


Bound

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, Life After The Cage, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sastiel - Freeform, Soul Bond, Temporary Character Death, The Cage, season six au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 78,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1572806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel sacrifices more than his freedom when he goes to save Sam from the cage, but he gains so much more in return. Now linked with Sam in a way no angel and human have been before, they struggle to pick up the threads of their old lives.</p><p>Beta'd by Gredelina1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This wouldn’t have got past the outline stage if it wasn’t for two amazing women. Gredelina1 and Sandra. They have been amazing both with writing my writing woes and real life worries, and they have beta’d and pre-read this chapter respectively. I don’t know what I would do without them.

****

 

The cost had been too great.

Castiel finally understood the reason behind his apathy to his return, why he could take no pleasure from the adulation of the other angels, or the triumph in halting the apocalypse; it was Sam Winchester.

When he’d drawn that first breath into his vessel’s lungs in that cemetery in Kansas, Castiel had been filled with wonder at his return. Once again, God had reached out and laid a hand on him, bringing him back from the abyss to live again. Full of awe, he had healed Dean of his injuries and revived Bobby. Then, when Bobby’s eyes had questioned him— _had it worked_ —he had nodded. Yes. They had saved the world.

At first he’d thought it was Dean’s devastation that was infecting him, making it impossible for him to find the joy in their triumph. But even when he’d taken his leave of Dean for the last time—powering down the highway at speed that hinted towards Dean’s state of mind and own lack of concern for his safety—the jubilation hadn’t come. He’d gone to Heaven, and there he’d been greeted by the garrisons, many of which were elated that he and the Winchesters had triumphed over Lucifer, and still he hadn’t felt it.

It was a full thirty days of Earthly time later that the reason came to him. He was sitting on a cool, stone bench by a lake in the heaven of an elderly man who’d lived in the early twentieth century. The sun was rippling across the water like molten gold, and Castiel was thinking of the difference he felt in himself since his return, the vast untapped stores of knowledge he had been imbibed with, and then the answer came to him. It was Sam.

With understanding came a flash of realization. Castiel had been brought back for a reason, and this must be it; why else would he have been given such knowledge of the cage, and the ways in and out, if not for this purpose? He felt disgusted with himself that it had taken him so long to come to the realization. For every one of those days Castiel had spent nursing his confused feelings, Sam Winchester had been suffering at the hands of Lucifer in the cage. He needed to save him. He must save him. It was God’s will.

And if it was God’s will, who would dare oppose him?

If he had thought about it for more than a moment, he would have had his answer, two angry archangels would dare.

* * *

 

He plummeted down through the levels of Hell in his true form with his wings stretched proudly at his back. To an onlooker he would have been the very image of an avenging angel. And there were onlookers; demons turned away from their play for a moment to watch as he streaked by. A smile curled his lips as he felt their gaze on him. They would know to fear him, as they should; he was a warrior of God.

The cage was not a physical prison in the way humans imagined. It was a series of labyrinthine passages with a nexus at the very center where Lucifer presided. As he reached the lower levels of Hell, Castiel heard great noise, separate to the screaming of souls on the rack and those abandoned. It was like crashes of thunder and great screeching bellows. It was the sound of two archangels fighting in their pure form.

He was surprised that they’d abandoned their vessels, but pleased. It would be infinitely easier to free Sam if he was left unattended than it would be if he had to free him from Lucifer first. There was a way to expel an angel from a vessel, an enochian spell, that had once been used on him by Alastair—thankfully, Dean had saved him that time, but he had already begun to feel the ripping pain of being torn away—but he didn’t know whether or not it would work on an archangel. It was a relief to know he wouldn’t have to find out.

His wings pulled closed to his sides in a dive as he approached the cage. For the first time in a long time, he felt he was doing God’s work, and that was an exhilarating sensation.

The cage existed separately from the other layers of Hell. No demon could penetrate this far, they would perish in the attempt. Only those touched by God could make the journey intact. As he touched down on the final level of Hell, he pulled his wings in tight to his sides and stood for a moment, preparing himself.

There were no bars to see through, no holes in a thick stone wall. The cage was indefinable by human methods of explanation. It was as God created it to be. Inescapable by an archangel but penetrable by a lowly seraph. More than that, it was escapable for him too. Castiel tensed his wings at his back and stepped through the haze that surrounded it. Into the cage.

Icy air swept over him, like the breath of some monstrous beast being exhaled, and he paused for a moment, taking in his surroundings. He had come to the intricate passages of the outer cage. Vast walls that stood higher than his erect form and so thick that they seemed to swallow sound. He couldn’t even hear the rumble of the archangels’ battle anymore. There was no noise, not even the sound of his wings pulling tight in at his back.

There were three paths in front of him, each of them identical except for the direction it lead, and he did not know which to choose. He spent a moment trying to decide before realizing this was the trick of the cage. He could stay here forever trying to find the _right_ way to go, and his mission would fail. Sam would not be saved. He walked right down the center, his vast footsteps swallowing the distance easily. He took turns at random, not worrying over direction, knowing the touch of God was upon him and that he would find his destination soon enough.

There was no sign that he was approaching the center, no whisper of sound or lightening of the air. One moment he was turning left, the next he was faced with sight of his brothers in battle.

They were beautiful and devastating. Their true forms towered over him and the walls of the maze, their wings spread wide and proud at their backs and their faces glittering with determination as their fists flew and landed, dealing blow after blow but never injuring. There could be no injury here in the cage, not for angels. It was suspended outside of reality. He wondered why they fought at all, if not for entertainment.

For a moment, a second of time in a timeless place, he stood and watched their combat, entranced by the beauty and ferocity they displayed. It was like nothing he had ever seen before in all his millennias of service to the Lord, and he had seen many things.

It was a moment too long. He forgot himself. He forgot his mission to free Sam. He was caught.

Michael dealt a blow to Lucifer, forcing his head to the side, and Castiel saw the look of surprise cross his fallen brother’s face as he was spotted.

“Castiel?” Lucifer’s voice was soft and soothing, everything it was supposed to be when speaking Enochian in its purest form. It was beautiful to listen to.

For a split second, he considered fleeing. Racing back through the maze until he found the weakness in the wall that would allow him to escape, but responsibility held him in place. He had a responsibility to Sam, and he would not abandon him to suffer alone, even though his staying meant his own torment.

Michael turned to look at him, and a slight smile curved his lips. “Hello, brother.”

Castiel felt the human urge to squirm under their intense gaze. They towered over him, looking down at him as if he was a misbehaving child. He supposed, in their eyes, he was.

Lucifer stepped forward. “I destroyed you.”

Castiel nodded. “I was returned.” He hesitated for a moment. “By God.”

Their faces twisted in identical expressions of regret and Castiel wondered what they were thinking. Did Michael ask himself why God had not seen that he would be cast into the cage when he left to fight Lucifer? Did Lucifer feel the pang of God’s name as only a fallen angel could, or did he truly blame his father for what he had become?

Michael recovered himself first. “And he sent you to save me?”

He must have known that wasn’t the truth, Castiel could no more save Michael than he could absolve Lucifer of his sins, but his look of longing was almost more than Castiel could bear.

He was saved the need of answering by Lucifer’s laugh. “Save you, Michael? He cannot save you any more than he can save himself. He came for the vessels.”

The _vessels._ Castiel was ashamed to admit he hadn’t thought of the Winchesters’ younger brother at all when he’d set out for the cage. His focus had been on Sam alone. But now, as he saw his defeat in Lucifer’s dancing eyes, he knew he had been wrong to forget him. He should have saved them both. He could no more save anyone, least of all himself.

Michael’s eyes darkened. “The vessels,” he spat. “You would risk everything for them!”

“It is God’s will,” Castiel said solemnly.

“Did you hear that from God’s own mouth?” Lucifer asked. “Or is that merely what you believe?”

Castiel straightened. “It is what I know.”

The archangels gave him a look of sympathetic pity. Castiel knew there was no escape for him now. He was trapped, and his two greatest brothers would make sure he stayed that way. He had failed Sam and Dean and Bobby and most of all himself.

“And yet God has abandoned you now,” Michael said, and Castiel could hear the bitterness shared by another of the abandoned. “And here you are.” He turned to Lucifer. “What should we do with him?”

Lucifer smiled cruelly. “He came for the vessels. Let us reunite them.”

Michael nodded and swept a hand through the air, pointing to a break in the maze walls opposite. “By all means, Castiel. They will be glad to see you.”

Castiel wanted to skirt around them, to cower against the wall as he passed, but he forced himself to remain strong and brave as he walked forward and passed between them. They stepped back to let him through, and though he couldn’t see it, he felt sure their faces were alight with amusement at his pretended calm.

The room he came out into was an antechamber of sorts. At the center was a rusted rack with bloodied shackles and chains at the corners of it. The floor below it was stained with coppery blood. The walls were made of unending flames, not as if the walls themselves were aflame, but more as if the flames made the walls. The heat swept over Castiel in waves, making his wings prickle.

At the foot of the rack, leaning against the bars that formed the end, were two figures. There were bloodstains on their clothes and singe marks. Their skin was marred with cuts and bruises, the slightest signs of what they must have endured in their time here.

The smaller of the two was limp against the taller man’s side, held within a tight embrace, and comforting words were trickling down to him from the Sam’s lips, reassurances and promises of protection. Sam Winchester was trying to comfort his brother the way he had been taught when he had been the youngest.

Castiel stepped forward and his movement caught the eye of the taller man. He blinked twice and then spoke in a cracked and hoarse whisper.

“Cas?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Sandra for pre-reading and Gredelia1 for beta’ing. Love you ladies.

_“It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him.”_

They should have been his last words. The last words that mattered anyway. There had been Enochian that followed, the words needed to open the cage, but the last words he had spoken to his brother had been a reassurance, and that was okay, because it was time he returned the favor. Dean had spent his life reassuring Sam, comforting him and supporting him. That was the message of the last words he heard Dean speak.

_“Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you.”_

Sam had wanted them to be his last words that mattered. He had wanted to take that dive alone. But he hadn’t, and they weren’t.

He wrested control of Lucifer just in time to save his brother’s life, and he had forced the archangel down, screaming and struggling, to trap him within his mind. Then he had opened the hole, and stepped back, preparing himself to fall, but he had been too slow. Michael had come, carting Adam along with him as a passenger in his own body, and Sam had known what he would have to do. He looked into Adam’s eyes, knowing what fate he was dooming his brother to, and dragged Michael and his brother with him into the hole. Into Hell.

Lucifer struggled against Sam’s control until the moment they collided hard with the ground, and then he threw Sam aside, like sloughing off a skin, and allowed himself to move freely.

Sam knew on some level that what he was seeing wasn’t real; Nick’s body had been abandoned in that rundown building in Detroit, but when Sam looked at Lucifer, that was who he saw. It was Nick’s features that were twisted with rage and Nick’s eyes that glittered dangerously. That made no sense, but Sam understood. Lucifer was in his true form now, and Sam’s mind simply couldn’t encompass it. He supposed he was lucky he hadn’t been blinded like poor Pamela had been when she caught a glimpse of Castiel’s true form. Perhaps if he was really part of the world, he would be. But he wasn’t now. He was in the cage. His mind and body were separate from the reality of Earth, and he was able to see anew.

Lucifer glared down at him with Nick’s face, and Sam fought the urge to cower away from him. He was soon going to be in pain, and that would be bad, but he had a more pressing responsibility. A duty to his brother.

Like Lucifer, Michael left his vessel, but unlike Nick, there was no one else for Sam to see in Michael’s place. Instead, he saw two Adam’s. One lie quiescent on the floor, and the other began circling Lucifer, as if he was choosing the place to strike.

 

Sam ignored Michael and Lucifer, and dropped to his knees beside Adam. He reached out an unsteady hand and touched his cheek. It was cool to the touch, like a corpse, but as Sam’s fingers curved to the contours of Adam’s face, his eyes opened and rolled madly in their sockets.

“Sam?” he said doubtfully, pushing himself to a half sitting position. “Where are we? What’s happening?”

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. “Adam, I’m sorry,” he said plaintively.

Adam looked around him and Sam did the same. The room, if that was what it was, was vast. There was no ceiling he could see. Whiteness filled his vision when he looked upward, and the walls seemed to be cast of rough stone. He had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing what was there. Like with Nick and Adam, his mind couldn’t compute what he was seeing, so it presented him with something tangible rather than the mind bending nothing it really was.

“Where are we?” Adam asked again.

Sam couldn’t bring himself to say it, to admit what he had done, so he bit down hard on his lip and stared remorsefully at the floor, then he heard an almighty crash, and he cringed away from the sound. Lucifer and Michael were fighting, but it was unlike anything Sam had ever seen before. Their bodies, so much larger than they had been in life, were lit from within by pure, white light that cast an aura around them. Their arms flew and landed blows at ferocious speed, and the sound hurt Sam’s ears.

Adam was shaking as he watched the two archangels do battle, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. “What’s happening? Who are they?”

Sam didn’t want to answer, he didn’t want to tell his brother what he had done, but Adam deserved the truth, so he swallowed down his reluctance and asked in a steady voice, “What do you remember?”

“I was in that room with you and Dean, the beautiful room, and then there was this… light. It hurt me, and I knew I had to make it stop, so when it asked me, I said yes. After that, I don’t remember much, just flashes.”

Sam was expecting that. Jimmy had said being Castiel’s vessel was like being chained to a comet. He didn’t know why it was different for him, perhaps because Lucifer wanted it to be different, but he remembered everything from the time he was trapped and Lucifer was pulling the strings.

“The light was Michael,” he said reluctantly. “You were saying yes to being his vessel.”

Adam looked up at the battling archangels and winced. “What happened? How did we end up here?”

Sam looked up, forcing himself to hold Adam’s gaze. “This is Hell, Adam. We’re in Lucifer’s cage.”

Adam shook his head jerkily. “No! We can’t be!”

“I’m so sorry.”

Whereas he had been sagging and weighed down with his shock and fear before, now Adam was angry. He lurched to his feet, backing away from the battling archangels and Sam.

“You’re lying,” he accused.

Sam shook his head. He wished he was lying. This was all his fault, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had trapped them both in this place for eternity. There was no hope of an escape, as he had made his brother promise.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

For a moment, he thought Adam was going to punch him, he looked ready to, but then something infinitely worse happened. He folded at the waist and started to cry. Great, broken sobs built in his chest and choked their way up his throat.

Sam crossed the distance between them and dragged Adam upright and into his arms. Adam struggled for a moment, and then he settled in Sam’s embrace, shaking and gasping but accepting comfort.

“What are we going to do, Sam?” he asked between sobs. “How are we going to get out of here?”

Sam felt a sob build in his own throat and when he blinked, a tear slid down his cheek. “We don’t.”

Adam cried harder.

xXx

Sam had always been the younger brother. He knew exactly how to play that role, and he was good at it. He knew the main job of the elder is to protect the younger, he had learned that from Dean, but never before had he felt so out of his depth. Never before had he failed so badly at something he wanted so much.

He missed Dean.

The archangels’ fight lasted days, or perhaps weeks, or maybe just minutes; it was impossible to tell time here. All he knew was that Adam was still crying when he was prised away from Sam and dragged to the rack, and Sam was crying too.

There was no need of shackles in Hell, no need of chains, Lucifer and Michael could restrain them easily enough without, but they chose to use them anyway. Possibly because of the mental element it would add to the situation. Adam was wrangled through an arch in the wall to a smaller room and strapped to a rusted metal rack in the center, and Sam was chained against the wall, with a perfect view of what was happening.

Adam struggled against his restraints, but for all the good it did, he might as well have stayed still. He was bound fast.

Like surgeons over a patient, Michael and Lucifer stood on either side of the rack, and they exchanged a glance before getting to work. Adam’s shirt was torn away, baring his skin to the frigid air of the room. Sam could see his chest heaving as he drew panting breaths.

From nowhere, Lucifer retrieved a straightedge razor and presented it to Michael. “Would you like to…?”

Michael bowed to Lucifer and took the blade. He rested it against Adam’s skin, right below his left nipple, and Adam’s breaths sped even more.

“No,” he begged. “Please don’t!”

Michael tittered as he pressed down, breaking the skin and starting blood flowing from the small cut. It ran down Adam’s chest and dripped down to the floor with soft plunking sounds, like rain against wooden planks.

Adam cried out and Sam bit back the urge to do the same. Michael and Lucifer seemed to relish the cry. It made them smile and exchange a knowing glance.

Michael offered the razor to Lucifer, but Lucifer shook his head. “No need,” he said pleasantly, and Sam saw another blade appear in his hand. “I brought my own.”

Adam’s cries grew more and more heart wrenching as they worked over him, cutting through his skin in clean sweeps, making the blood flow freely.

“Leave him alone!” Sam shouted when he could take it no more. He knew it would do no good, that he might even make things worse for Adam, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to do something.

The archangels turned to him and smiled grimly. “Patience, Sam. It will be your turn soon enough.”

Sam’s fear ratcheted up a notch and he felt his heart hammer against his ribs, as if it was fighting to escape his chest before its turn came.

Lucifer and Michael got back to work, and Adam screamed out even louder. Every cry tore at Sam’s heart, as he knew this was all because of him. Adam was suffering now because of what he did, and soon, it would be his turn.

xXx

Sam had once heard someone say that anticipation of pain was worse than the pain itself. They were wrong. Pain, when performed at the hands of two archangels, was infinitely worse. The only thing harder than seeing his own heart plucked from his chest and held up for his examination was watching it happen to someone else, to Adam.

The archangels soon learned Sam was a stronger subject than observer, and that made things worse for both him and Adam. Sam took his fair share of turns of the rack before they learned their lesson, and even after that, they made sure to get regular sessions in on him, but more and more often he was forced to watch as they hurt Adam.

“You can blame your brother. He has a weak stomach, you see,” Lucifer told Adam when the younger man had begged to be released. “It hurts him more to watch than to partake, and as our quarrel is with him, we have to turn to you to meet our needs.”

Adam had locked eyes with Sam as Lucifer had spoken, and Sam had seen the accusations and questions in his eyes: _How could he let them do this? Why didn’t he help?_

“I’m sorry,” Sam had said, all the while wishing there was something more, something that could actually help.

Sam wouldn’t have blamed Adam for wanting nothing to do with him in the brief reprieves when he was off the rack, for shunning him, but if anything, the opposite was true. Adam clung to him in those brief times, sitting so their shoulders and hips were pressed together, and when, after a particularly brutal session on the rack, Sam had put his arm around Adam’s shoulders, the younger man hadn’t cringed away. He had nestled in closer instead and cried into the torn fabric of Sam’s coat.

For the first time in his life, Sam was the big brother, and he had never felt more adrift and alone.

xXx

The cage was timeless, there was no way to gauge the hours or minutes spent on the rack or chained against the wall, but they knew time was passing slowly. It felt like they’d been in the cage for years. There was a routine developed, and Sam found that something of a relief. Unlike Dean, who let things come in theirown time, Sam preferred to work to a schedule; perhaps it was a holdover from his Stanford days.

It wasn’t a stream of constant torture in the cage, there were breaks between, and in those times Sam did his best to take care of his younger brother. They stayed in the room with the rack between times. Sam preferred it to the vast, unending room, and Adam never wanted to stray far from Sam’s side. It wasn’t a comfortable room by any stretch of the imagination, the rack was in the center, reminding them constantly of what was to come, and the walls had a propensity to turn to flame when the archangels weren’t there, but it was theirs.

The injuries attained in a session of suffering were immense, hollowed chests and amputated limbs, but all was magically repaired at the end of each bout. There were still signs of damage that appeared though;small nicks and cuts, bruises and crooked fingers. They both started to look as though they were the victims of a particularly violent mugging. It was as if the mental damage of what was happening to them was leaving its mark on them physically. Adam looked the worst; he was under the knife so much more often than Sam. As the injuries accrued, Sam wondered if one day they would stop healing them. If there would come a time that he was forced to hold his own heart in his hand because they chose not to return it to his body for him.

He dreaded that time.

xXx

It was a day, if time in the cage could be broken down into days, like any other, and Sam had just been released from the rack. Adam was due to take his turn, and he was terrified. He was cowering under Sam’s arm, and Sam was trying to reassure him with useless words about how he would be okay and that Sam would take care of him.

The archangels were battling in the vast room; Sam could hear their blows falling. He had long since decided that they fought only as a form of entertainment when torture had lost its luster. It was the equivalent of him and Dean watching an old movie together; something they did to pass the time.

He was waiting for the moment their fighting would cease, and they would come for Adam, when the sounds of their fighting broke off. Adam tensed at his side, and Sam tightened his hold on him. “You'll be okay,” he whispered. “It won’t be so bad.”

He was lying and they both knew it, but what else could he do?

There was movement at the arch between the two rooms, and Sam turned, expecting to see Michael and Lucifer returning, beaming smiles in place, anticipating what was to come. But it wasn’t an archangel that stood in the arch. It was another familiar figure. He blinked twice, trying to clear his eyes of the hallucination, but it remained.

Sam licked his lips and spoke in a cracked whisper. “Cas?”

The figure nodded. “Yes, Sam. I have come.”

It couldn’t be real. Sam had seen him die. He had watched, powerless, as he had been blasted into atoms by Lucifer. He had seen the gore coating Bobby’s face. He knew that had happened, so how was he looking at the angel now? Had Hell finally broken his mind as it had been threatening to do for so long?

“I am here, Sam.”

Real or not, hallucination or fact, he couldn’t stay. Sam didn’t know how Castiel had come to be there, but he knew he had to get out before he was seen. Michael and Lucifer would tear him apart.

“Cas,” he said desperately, “you have to go. If they see you… If they know…” Castiel shook his head solemnly, and Sam’s fear for his friend increased. “Cas, you have to _go_.” His voice broke on the last word.

Castiel looked into Sam’s eyes, and there was such terrible sadness there that Sam knew at once what had happened. Castiel couldn’t leave. It was too late for him now, too. He was just as trapped as Adam and Sam.

Sam shook his head and a tear slipped down his cheek and fell onto the worn denim on his jeans, leaving a small dark spot. “They’ve seen you.”

“Yes,” Castiel said simply.

Sam sniffed and tried to force back the tears from his eyes. He didn’t want to cry anymore. It would upset Adam if he noticed, though at the moment, he seemed oblivious. Sam looked down and saw that his eyes were open but he was looking across the room at the flaming wall as if there wasn’t a third person in there with them. Not for the first time, Sam wondered just how much damage had been done to Adam’s mind. How much did he even understand anymore?

Sam couldn’t talk about what happened, and he was scared to ask the questions he needed answering, so he cleared his throat and asked in a conversational tone, as if they weren’t currently having the conversation in the very depths of Hell at the mercy of two archangels, “How are you here, Cas? I saw you die.”

“I was returned,” Castiel said, and Sam detected a certain hint of pride in his voice. “God brought me back.”

Sam couldn’t help but feel a prickle of anger. He was glad Castiel was back, elated even, but why was it that God roused himself to save Castiel but not to avert the end of the world. How much care could he have for creation when he allowed all those people to die in the year of the apocalypse. Why didn’t he stop his sons fighting in the first place?

“I was able to resurrect Bobby, too,” Castiel said.

Sam gaped at him. “Bobby’s alive?”

“Yes.” Castiel paused, as if expecting another question, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to ask it. If he knew, he could never not know. His last comfort—that his brother was alive and well somewhere in the world—could be lost. “Dean is well, too.”

Sam breathed out a shaky breath of relief and the tears that he had been holding back began to fall. Dean was alive. Dean was okay. Even in this darkest of all places, Sam was happy. More than happy, he was exhilarated. The thought that the injuries from Lucifer’s attack—with Sam’s fists—should have killed him had tormented him almost as much as the sounds of Adam’s cries.

When he was sure he could speak with a steady voice, he asked, “What are you doing here, Cas?”

Castiel smiled slightly. “I came to save you.”

For the first time since Castiel’s arrival, Adam roused himself. He raised his head slowly and looked at Castiel. His voice was cracked and raw, but in the near silence of the room, it was clearly audible. “You’ve come to save us?”

Castiel bowed his head. “I came to try. I was seen and now I am a prisoner too.”

Adam tilted his head to the side and buried his face against Sam’s shirt. Broken sobs escaped him and his whole body shook. Sam held him and brought his free arm up to tangle in the hair at the back of Adam’s neck. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “We’ll be okay.”

Adam’s garbled words seemed to convey a clear meaning: How could they possibly be okay? They were in Hell.

Sam just held him closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos. I was blown away by the response to the first chapter. I didn’t think there would be so many people interested in a Sastiel story.   
> If you enjoyed the chapter, please take a moment to leave a comment. It really does mean the world to me to hear what you think.   
> Next week’s update will be early or late depending on when I get time to prepare it as I am going to a SPN con, where I will be meeting… *drumroll* Jared Frickin Padalecki!!!! I am beyond excited about it so prepare for a squee’ing authors note next time.   
> Until then…  
> Clowns or Midgets xxx


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Sandra for pre-reading and Gredelia1 for beta’ing. Love you ladies.

**_Chapter Three_ **

 

Castiel thought perhaps it had been worth being trapped here to see the expression on Sam’s face when he heard his brother was well. It was like nothing Castiel had ever seen before; exhilaration and joy in Hell. He hadn’t been able to say more, because what could be said? Dean was devastated. Dean was broken. That was the Dean he had last seen and he had no reason to believe the intervening weeks had done anything to heal him. Sam didn’t need to know that though. Sam knew he was alive and that had made him happy, so that was enough. He didn’t remain happy long.

Sam was still comforting Adam as best he could, and Castiel was watching, not knowing what to do or say to help them, when Castiel felt their approach. He stiffened and moved across the space in strong strides to stand in front of Sam and Adam, as if he could protect them if they were hidden from sight.

Lucifer was first, towering over them all in his true form, and his lips were curled back in a snarl as he saw Castiel’s position. Michael followed him in, and he seemed amused by Castiel.

“Really, Castiel,” Lucifer said. “You think you can protect them. I would have thought you learned your lesson by our last encounter.”

“You cannot defeat me now,” Castiel said. “I have the grace of God.”

That was true. He could not hurt Castiel in that way, he did not have a soul, he had grace and that was resilient. There were other ways he could be hurt though, and with Lucifer in command of the cage, it would be easy. He had to be strong though. He understood he had been misguided when he thought God had brought him back to save Sam from the cage. If that had been true he could not have failed. His true purpose was really to protect the cage’s innocent victims. That was what God wanted of him now.

Lucifer tittered and swept a hand through the air. Though Castiel struggled to stand his ground, there was no resisting the power that pushed against him. He was forced away from Sam and Adam and held against the still burning wall. He could feel the flames licking over his skin, but there was no pain. It wasn’t holy fire; Lucifer was not capable of replicating that, even in this place of his command, so it could not damage Castiel. It was an agitating sensation though, and Castiel found himself struggling to get away from the flames regardless. His focus slipped from what was happening around him for a moment and came to the two men cowering at the end of the rack.

Castiel supposed he should have expected it, he should have known Hell would corrupt Michael, but he was stunned when he was the one that grabbed Adam and dragged him out of his brother’s arms.

Adam struggled and shouted for help, and Sam tried to oblige, but he was powerless against the force of Lucifer.

“Sam, please!” Adam howled.

Sam thrashed desperately against Lucifer’s grip. “Adam! No, stop! Leave him alone!”

Their cries seemed to feed Lucifer and Michael’s pleasure in the situation. They smiled widely as they each wrangled their targets into the restraints. Sam was pushed against the wall, now devoid of flame, and chains were wound around his chest and arms. Adam was forced onto the rack and strapped in place with restraints at each ankle and wrist.

“Now, Adam,” Lucifer began. “We don’t want you holding back today. Make sure to tell us when it hurts. You have a new observer and I want him to get the full effect of what happens here.”

Adam was crying. Tears were sliding down the sides of his face and into his hair. “Please, no,” he said desperately.

In response, Lucifer produced a razor and held it up in front of his face, examining the honed edge. Then, in a move so fast it would have been a blur to Sam and Adam’s eyes, Lucifer swept the blade through the air and Adam’s chest, baring muscle and flesh and bone to the air.

Adam howled with agony, and the sound hurt Castiel’s ears. He did not want to watch what they were doing, as he suspected that they wanted the audience, but he couldn’t look away either. He was entranced by the macabre spectacle.

He heard a sound separate to Adam’s cries of pain and heaving breaths, and it took him a moment to recognize the sounds as Sam. He was crying too, as if every wound inflicted on his brother cut him. He wished there was something he could do or say to help, but words had never been his strength and there was nothing he could do. He was a lowly seraph and they were archangels.

xXx

When the archangels were finished with Adam, they swept from the room, casting satisfied glances over their shoulders at his broken body. They had healed him from the physical wounds they had caused, returning his chest to a whole entity rather than the gaping cavern it had been before, but the other signs of what he had endured remained. His face was pockmarked and scarred, and there were dark bruises marring his skin. Those signs of injury disturbed Castiel more than anything, especially those on Sam’s face, as he knew the truth of them.

The chains fell away from Sam’s chest and he lurched forward toward his brother. Adam hadn’t attempted to move, and Castiel thought perhaps he couldn’t. The damage was great now, there was little time left for him.

Adam groaned as Sam eased an arm under his shoulders and helped him to sit on the edge of the rack. There was tremendous guilt in Sam’s expression as he helped, and Castiel wished there was something he could do to make that expression fade.

“Cas, can you help?” Sam asked.

Castiel hurried forward and slid an arm around Adam’s shoulder. The young man flinched as if their touch was causing him more pain, but he muffled the sounds through a bitten lip as they eased him down to the floor. Sam immediately sat beside him and Adam collapsed against his side.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said.

Castiel hated that there was need of thanks; that so much damage had been done to Adam. He was a pure soul, or at least he had been. He should never have been touched by the supernatural. If the world was as it should be, he would have had a long way from the touch of an angel. He would never have been cast down into this place.

Adam stirred feebly and groaned, and Sam’s expression tautened.

“Cas,” he said softly, as if not wanting to disturb the younger man. “Is there anything you can do about this?” He gestured feebly at the bruises and cuts marring Adam’s face. “I mean can you heal him? He’s hurt pretty bad.”

Castiel wished he could give any other answer but the truth, but he couldn’t. The damage Sam was seeing wasn’t damage to Adam’s body; it was damage to his soul.

The human soul was incredibly resilient, but it had its limitations. It could only bear so much before losing its ability to heal. It wasn’t just physical harm that hurt it, but mental. Adam had been through too much and his soul couldn’t cope with much more. Given the signs of damage Castiel could see, he was amazed the young man was still functioning as well as he was.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “There is nothing I can do.”

Sam nodded. “I should have figured. It’s not real, right? It’s Hell.”

Castiel wondered for a moment whether he should tell him the truth, that the marks they both wore were the consequence of their slowly failing souls. That the damage would eat them up until there was nothing left but a spark that had once been humanity. If they were in the other levels of Hell, that damage would transport itself to demonic energy. Their souls would corrupt into darkness. But the cage was different. The wounds struck here would drag a soul down into nothingness.

He decided Sam didn’t need to know that.

“It is different,” he confirmed.  

xXx

In hindsight, Castiel thought he should have known what would happen. He could have warned Sam of what would happen. But he hadn’t seen in time, and it was too late when he did. Adam was already gone. Sam’s intentions were good, of that Castiel was sure, but it was ultimately his own failing that helped his brother slip away.

Adam had grown restless. He wept quietly and occasionally moaned as if in physical pain. Castiel supposed the slow death of a soul would be painful, not that he had experience of such things. He had no soul. He had grace.

When Sam had started talking, Castiel had been just as enraptured as Adam seemed, and he hadn’t realized what was going to happen.

“I don’t want to be here,” Adam had said in a moan.

Castiel saw Sam’s features twist into a grimace of pain, and he wondered what he was thinking, but then Sam started to speak, and he found himself lost in the imagined world instead.

“We’re not here,” Sam said. “Not really. This is all a dream, and soon it will be over.”

“Where are we, Sam?” Adam asked, and his voice was childlike and soft.

“We’re in Heaven. There’s a place there, I saw it once, and we’re together. It’s a bar called Harvelle’s, and they have cool beer on tap and all the bar nuts you can eat. All the people we love are waiting for us there, and there’s so many of them. Your mom is there. And Dad, he’s there, too. And one day… Dean.” As Sam said his brother’s name, a faraway look came into his eyes and Castiel knew he was seeing that imagined place as clearly as if it was a picture in a frame.

“Sounds good,” Adam said quietly.

“It is good,” Sam said fervently. “It’s the best place there is. We’re safe there. The angels won’t come, and we’ll be able to talk and laugh. We’ll have all the time in the world, and no one will ever hurt you again. Me and Dean, we’ll take care of you.”

Adam nodded and then his head dropped down onto Sam’s shoulder. Castiel saw it happen, he saw the moment the light went out of Adam’s eyes, but he didn’t interrupt Sam’s flow of words, even though the sight of Sam cradling a corpse to him was disturbing.

“You’re going to be free there, Adam. You can rest and no one will hurt you. We’ll see everyone we love again, and we will be together. You just close your eyes and you’ll see.”

Sam looked down, and for a moment he seemed to think Adam was following his instructions and seeing that other place, but then his eyes widened and Castiel saw fear cross his face.

“Adam?” he said harshly. “Look at me.”

Adam was beyond Sam’s ability to recall or command, and Sam seemed to realize that, but it didn’t stop him from shifting so he was facing Adam, gripping his shoulders to hold him upright, and shaking him.

“Adam! Open your eyes!”

Castiel cleared his throat and stepped forward, and Sam’s eyes snapped to him.

“Cas, help me. I think something’s really wrong.”

Castiel knelt beside Sam and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sam.”

Sam shook his head jerkily. “No! No, no, no, no, no!”

“He’s gone, Sam.”

“He can’t be. We’re in Hell. You can’t die in Hell!”

Castiel bowed his head. “His soul could not stand anymore. He has fallen as completely as if he had died on Earth. He’s gone. Lay him down.”

Sam either could not or would not obey. He clung to Adam’s shoulders and stared at him, a wretched expression of devastation on his face. Tears streamed and his breaths were gasping, and still he clung to his brother’s corpse.

xXx

A long time later, when Castiel had finally persuaded Sam to release Adam and to lay him down at the edge of the room, covered with Castiel’s coat, Sam spoke.

“What happened to him, Cas?”

Castiel sighed. “I don’t truly know how to explain.”

“Try,” Sam said in a broken voice. “I need to understand. He died, but we’re already dead here, so how did he die again?”

Sam was sitting on the floor, leaning against the rack again, but there was no one to cling to him anymore and he looked oddly adrift without it. Castiel found that he didn’t want to have this conversation towering over Sam, so he knelt down in front on him and laid his palms flat on his knees.

“The strain was too much for Adam to bear. You have to understand that though you are here in body, and it seems that when they hurt you that is what they inflict the damage on, it’s really your soul they hurt. Your body is nothing here. You only see it as that is all you can conceive. Just as you see me as you knew me before.”

Sam nodded vaguely. “I figured that.”

“Adam’s soul was not weak by any means, but nor was it as strong as yours. You have known great suffering and that has strengthened you. Until recently, Adam led a charmed life comparatively. He has never had to fight for himself or for others the way you have. That strength in your soul has given you resilience to their evil.”

“So my soul is okay?” It sounded as though Sam was asking out of duty rather that any real curiosity.

Castiel didn’t want to have to tell him the truth, but he owed Sam Winchester, and the truth was all he had to offer. “You see the marks on your skin?”

Sam prodded one of the bruises marring his hand. “Yeah.”

“They are the signs of damage to your soul,” Castiel said heavily. “As you saw, Adam was showing much greater damage than you before his… passing.”

Sam nodded. “So that’s going to happen to me, too?” He didn’t sound concerned. Perhaps he thought oblivion would be preferable to Hell.

“No, Sam,” Castiel said firmly. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

Sam laughed softly. “Yeah? That’s what I said to Adam and look how well that ended. Face it, Cas, I’m pretty much screwed however you look at it.”

Castiel shook his head, refuting the words. He would find a way to save Sam from his younger brother’s fate.

He had to.

xXx

Sam was a different subject on the rack to Adam. Whereas Adam had begged and pleaded for mercy, Sam bore it without losing himself to the pain. He wasn’t silent by any means, but he was proud. He didn’t ask for mercy from those who had none. Castiel did not have the same restraint. He implored Michael—knowing there was no chance with Lucifer—to release Sam and take him instead. But it was no use. Michael would not be moved, and Sam suffered.

Then the time came for Castiel to be the one on the rack, and he marveled at Sam all the more. They could not hurt him with razors and fire, they used their archangel blades instead, and the pain was immense. His grace was ripped and savaged, and curse of it was that it could not be truly injured, so they were never satisfied. They wanted to see the physical signs of what they were doing, and there were none. Grace was far more resilient that a soul.

Castiel did not know how much time had passed since Adam, though he knew it must have been a while as there had been many sessions on the rack between, when Sam tried to say goodbye.

They had been given a brief reprieve from the torment as Lucifer and Michael vented their frustrations on each other. Sam was sitting beside the covered form that was Adam’s broken soul, and he was looking thoughtful.

“Tell me about Dean,” Sam said quietly. “When you saw him last.”

It was the first time Sam had spoken in what could have been days of Earth time, and Castiel did not like the musing tone to his voice.

“He was driving,” Castiel said, “I think to Bobby’s. He was alone. I had already taken Bobby home, but Dean said he needed to be alone.”

“How was he?”

Castiel frowned. “He was very upset.”

“What else?”

“What else do you expect, Sam?” Castiel asked. “It was very shortly after you fell. He was angry at himself, at me, at God…”

“At me?”

“No, Sam. I do not believe Dean was ever angry at you.”

Sam looked up and Castiel saw the wetness in his eyes. “It’s getting harder to remember. It’s like everything that happened before is being swallowed by Hell. I try to remember him and all I see is Adam.”

Castiel hated the words as soon as they left Sam’s mouth. It was a further sign, as if it was needed, that Sam was slipping away. The marks and scars and bruises marring Sam’s skin weren’t enough. He had to lose memories of the ones he loved too. Hell was crueler than its inhabitants.

“Do you think he’ll forget me too?” Sam asked in a doleful voice. “Like I'm forgetting him.”

Castiel smiled at the ludicrousness of the question. “No. That would be impossible.”

“I hope so,” Sam said with a sigh.

They fell into silence again for a long time which Sam broke.

“Thanks, Cas, for trying to save us. It means a lot that you tried.

“Why are you saying this?” Castiel asked, cool fear gripping him.

Sam shrugged. “I guess it just felt like the right time.”

“Sam, do you feel like you’re slipping?” Castiel asked intensely.

Sam bowed his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. Does it matter?”

Of course it mattered. How could Sam be so calm about the possibility of oblivion? Castiel felt sickened at the possibility. He couldn’t let Sam go. He had risked and given everything to save him, thinking it was God’s will, he couldn’t lose him now. His hands fisted at his sides, and he fought back the urge to shake Sam. He looked too fragile for that, as if a harsh word would break him in two.

“No,” he said harshly. “You will not let this happen, Sam. You will fight.”

He saw Sam’s cheeks lift as he smiled slightly. “I don’t think that’s going to help, Cas. I think this is going to happen anyway.”

Castiel turned away, shaking his head jerkily. There was no hope for Sam if he wasn’t going to fight. He wished he had Dean’s knowledge of the younger man. He would know what to say to make him resist.

“Sam, please,” he said softly.

Sam merely ducked his head. “Sorry, Cas.”

xXx

It was too dangerous, the risk was too great, but there was no other option. Sam was failing. If he didn’t do something, Castiel would be covering another corpse of a soul.

He couldn’t bear it. He had come here to save Sam from Hell, and he’d failed, the least he could do was save him from himself.

The archangels seemed to know it was coming too, as they had ripped and torn into Sam with abandon, showing their excitement. They wanted Castiel to be alone; they wanted him defeated. He had come into Hell, full of confidence, and they had trapped him. Now they would see him bereft of his only remaining companion. As far as Castiel could tell, they hadn’t considered the possibility of him saving Sam through his grace, but that was exactly what he was going to do.

Horribly weaken by the archangels’ ministrations, Sam could not raise himself from the rack without help. Castiel almost carried him away to the end of the rack where he preferred to sit and eased him down to the floor.

Angels had to ask permission to take a vessel. It was one of the limitations God had set upon them to protect his most valued creation. They had to ask permission. And Castiel knew he should ask Sam’s permission to save him, but he knew in his head that he would do it no matter what Sam said, so he didn’t ask. He consoled himself with the fact Sam would surely want to be saved if he had the choice.

“Sam?”

Sam’s eyes were closed, but when Castiel spoke, they opened and fixed on him. “Yeah, Cas?”

“I am going to do something now, and it may hurt you, but you need to stay quiet. If they know what I am doing…” If they knew, they would punish them both severely.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked weakly.

“Saving you,” Castiel said simply.

Sam tried to straighten, but Castiel held him down with a hand on his shoulder. “I am going to take something from you, and I will give you something in return. It will help you.”

Sam looked scared, and Castiel hated that he couldn’t comfort him. He couldn’t even bear to give him a choice.

Castiel smiled and laid a hand on Sam’s chest. “Be brave, Sam.”

He reached out and felt the burning spark of Sam’s soul, dimmer than it should be, but still alight with power, and closed his eyes. This was going to take precision and strength, and more than a little luck. It was a terrible risk to take, but if it would save Sam, it would be worth it.    

Castiel hoped.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Questions? Anger that I did away with Adam? Drop me a line and let me know what you think.
> 
> In other news… I just finished watching the season finale and I am still reeling. If you’ve seen it and want someone to squee/cry/shout/scream with, my inbox is open - see profile for address.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter Four_ **

 

Sam had once torn a tendon in his leg. The sound it had made as that part of him had been ripped was sickening. This sound was louder. It was as if something vital within him was being ripped in two. Then the pain came and it was intense. Sam’s eyes closed, but if they had been open, he would have seen Castiel literally plunging a hand into his chest.

For a moment, he’d felt hollowed out and more alone than he had ever felt in his life, and then something had rushed into him, warming every fiber of his being, every cell, and completing him; he didn’t even feel the pain anymore. It was as if he had been in two throughout his life, unaware of the absence, and only now his disparate parts were being reunited. It was the most amazing feeling he had ever experienced. He never wanted it to end, but it did; the feeling sapped out of him, leaving him aching for its loss.

Castiel fell back panting and rubbing at his chest as if it pained him. He looked like he was going to collapse, so Sam grabbed his shoulders and held him upright, not noticing the fact such a gesture would have been beyond him only a few moments before.

“You okay, Cas?” he asked.

Castiel nodded but did not speak. His legs seemed to be shaking, and Sam’s grip on him tightened, as if by holding him upright he could hold him together. For a long moment, he thought he was going to lose Castiel as he had lost Adam, but the angel drew a deep shuddering breath and straightened, leaning away from Sam.

“I’m okay. I'm fine.” He fixed Sam with a contemplative look. “Are you?”

Sam considered the question carefully. Before Castiel had done whatever it was that he’d done, he’d felt like he was slowly sliding down to the bottom of a deep cavern. It had been hard to hear what Castiel was saying when he was talking, even thought seemed to be beyond his capabilities, but now he felt revived, as if he had been living underwater before but now had breached the surface.

“I’m good,” he said. “More than good.”

Castiel’s expression was familiar. Sam had once woken from what he thought was unconsciousness on a dirty mattress in a rundown cabin. His brother had come, and the look on his face had been pure relief. Sam didn’t understand until later, when he’d learned that he hadn’t been unconscious, he’d been dead, that the look was Dean’s relief at knowing his deal had worked, that Sam had come back to life at the cost of his own soul. Sam remembered that look and he saw it again now on Castiel’s face.

“Castiel,” he said darkly. “What did you do?”

“I saved you,” Castiel said simply.

“How?”

Castiel looked into Sam’s eyes, and he seemed to be searching for something. “Does it truly matter?” he asked. “Is it not enough that you are saved?”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “It matters.”

Castiel sighed and moved away from Sam, walking the circumference of the rack. “You were failing, Sam. There was little time left for you, and I had to do what I could.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. Nothing Castiel said so far was easing his worry at all.

Castiel looked up at him with in his eyes. “Without me you would have perished.”

“What did you do?” Sam’s voice was a low growl.

“I saved you. I bound us together.”

Sam didn’t know what he was expecting to hear, but it definitely wasn’t that. He didn’t even understand what that meant. He looked into Castiel’s earnest face and his anger seeped away to be replaced by sadness and a sense of something indefinable.

“How does that…? What did you…?” He couldn’t seem to arrange his thoughts properly. He was feeling overwhelmed and confused, and strangely scared. “Please explain, Cas.”

Castiel raked his hands through his hair in an uncharacteristic show of uneasiness. “Your soul was so damaged, so wounded, that it would not have lasted much longer. I had to help.”

“Yeah, I get that, but what _exactly_ did you do?”

Castiel looked up at him, and Sam stared into his brilliant blue eyes. “I split your soul. I took a part of it into myself where it could be protected.”

Sam gaped at him. “You took my soul!”

Castiel shook his head. “Not in the way you are thinking. You are still a whole man. I have not injured you. I merely took into myself a minute part of you so it can be protected, and in turn, I left a part of myself.” He looked intently at Sam. “I left a part of my grace, Sam.”

Sam rocked back as if punched. “I have grace in me? But that’s impossible. It’s just… wrong!”

Castiel frowned and for a moment, Sam thought he had hurt the angel’s feelings, and then Castiel schooled his face into a blank mask that hid whatever he was thinking. “It will not harm you, Sam.”

“You think I’m worried about that?” Sam laughed darkly. “It’s your _grace,_ Cas.”

It was the gift from God. What marked them as chosen. The grace of God. Sam was the abomination. The boy with the demon blood. The man that almost ended the world. There was no one less deserving of God’s touch than him. And to take Sam’s own soul, blackened and twisted by the demon taint into himself… How could he have borne it?

“I am aware,” Castiel said. “I did what I felt I had to do to save you.”

Sam didn’t know what to say or do. He settled for dragging his hands through his hair and over his face.

“It can be reversed,” Castiel said reluctantly. “I can give back what I took and remove what I gave, but it would be very dangerous. You are lucky to have survived the last time.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “And yet you did it anyway. Damn, Cas, you don’t do things by halves, do you?”

Castiel shook his head again. “I was saving you, Sam.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

He moved to stand in front of Castiel, hesitating for a moment. He had never done this before, but he guessed after the risk Castiel had just taken, the least he could to was this. He threw his arms wide and pulled Castiel into a tight embrace. For a moment, Castiel stiffened, and Sam worried that he’d made the wrong choice, but then Castiel’s shoulders relaxed and he raised his arms to return the hug.

xXx

Sam felt that he should have known there would be consequences for what Castiel did. When had anything happened without a cost? And something as big as this had to have a hefty price tag. Had he thought of it, he would have imagined that he would be the one to suffer for it; that seemed a given with Winchester luck at the helm. He was wrong.

The archangels swept into the room, towering above them and smiling in the most beautiful and terrifying way. Sam tried to be brave, he tried not to cower away from them, but he couldn’t help himself. Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder and Sam felt a small surge of that exhilaration in him that he had felt before when they were bonded. It didn’t comfort him this time though. It seemed to agitate him further, making his heart pound against his ribs.

Lucifer reached out a hand and his fingers wrapped around Sam’s arm, irresistible strength pulling Sam toward the rack. He didn’t try to fight, there was no point. He had long learned that the only defense he had was to maintain his pride. He would not cower and beg for himself. He was a Winchester.

He allowed himself to become boneless as they pushed him down to lay across the bars of the rack. The chill of the metal seeped through his clothes, making his skin prickle painfully. He knew that discomfort would soon be eclipsed by others. There was nothing better to take your mind off of prickling skin on your back than having it peeled from your chest.

He could hear scuffling and he turned his head to see Castiel. He was being forced back against the wall, into the chains, and he was doing his best to put up a fight.

Sam wanted to say something, to reassure Castiel that it wouldn’t be as bad as he was imagining, but they both knew that was a lie. Sam had hated to be the observer too. That was why Adam had suffered so much more than him… before.

Sam’s eyes wanted to move to the covered mound that was his brother’s corpse, but he denied the urge. It would only make it harder for him to control himself now, to keep from begging. He locked his eyes on Castiel’s face instead. That would give him strength.

Looking at Castiel, he didn’t see their preparation or the performance they made of producing their blades and exchanging smiles of anticipation. He was unprepared for the pain. An involuntary hiss escaped him as Lucifer drew a shallow cut across his chest. He knew it was shallow as he only felt the skin parting and not the muscle or flesh.

Then something unexpected happened. Castiel grimaced and his eyes drifted down to look at his own chest. Sam frowned. This had never happened before. He didn’t know what it meant, but he had a feeling he needed to hide it. He couldn’t let the archangels know.

When Lucifer dug the blade in deeper, talking all the while to Michael about the resilience of the human body— _‘One of the things Father got right’_ —he cried out. He stopped trying to restrain himself and gave full voice to his pain. It seemed to spur Lucifer on; the cuts and gouges became increasingly deep, and Sam suffered. He howled and screamed, and let himself truly give in to the urges he had been fighting since the first time they put him on the rack. He would let himself feel it, Winchester pride be damned. He would beg if that was what it took to keep their secret.

xXx

When Castiel had taken Sam into himself and shared his grace, he had known it was a risk, Sam could have been destroyed, but he had felt it was a risk worth taking. He had thought, when Sam survived the exchange, that they had been blessed, that the consequences had been avoided, but that was before Michael and Lucifer set to work on him again.

Castiel _felt_ it.

He felt the knife sliding down his chest, parting the skin and drawing rivulets of blood from him. It was impossible. He had no blood here, as his vessel was not truly here, and yet he felt it all.

He had not imagined the bonding could affect them like this, but he had no basis of comparison. As far as he knew, no angel had done this before, taken a part of a soul into themselves and exchanged it for grace. The only time an angel had reached out to a human soul was to strengthen themselves, and even then it was rare.

Sam stared at him, and Castiel knew he had noticed his slip, and he tried to hide further reactions. He could ignore the pain that sliced into him as Lucifer tore at Sam and Michael spoke soft words of encouragement to his brother, advising and encouraging, telling him the places to target next, but he could not ignore Sam’s cries of pain. Before, Sam had been stoic on the rack, not giving real voice to what he was feeling, but that was gone now. Sam howled and screamed and eventually begged for release. Every cry tore at Castiel like a knife, but he was strong, he did not show it.

Eventually, Lucifer reached the crescendo of his play on Sam, and with a triumphant smile he scooped Sam’s heart from his chest and held it up, still beating, for their examination. Castiel felt it all: he felt Lucifer’s fingers grappling in his chest, he felt the absence as the heart was removed, and he felt the horror of what he was seeing.

With a touch of a hand, Sam was made whole and healed again and freed from the rack. At the same time the chains around Castiel dropped away and he stepped forward.

“Now, Castiel, did you enjoy that?” Lucifer asked conversationally.

Castiel did not deign to answer. He would not give Lucifer the satisfaction. He just stepped forward and helped Sam up from the rack, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Unlike the other times Sam had been released, he didn’t seem to need the physical support anymore. He stood tall, albeit on shaky legs. Castiel’s grace had done its task and strengthened him.

“Are you not going to answer?” Michael asked. “Or perhaps you are unable to. I imagine that you are still reeling from the consequences of your bonding.”

Castiel’s head snapped up. They knew! They knew what he had done.

“Really, Castiel, did you think you could hide something like that from us?” Lucifer asked. “You are in my domain now. You can hide nothing from me. We see it, your grace burns within his eyes now, as his souls darkens yours.”

“As if there could be any other result.” Michael’s lips curled with disgust. “You touched that… thing. That blackened and infected thing, and as if that wasn’t enough, you took it into yourself. Castiel, have you no respect for our Father at all? After he saved you, not once but twice, you would defile your body like this. You would bind yourself to the demon child?”

Sam drew back from Castiel and stood against the wall, pushed against it, as if he was hoping he would disappear through it. There was something indefinable in his expression that Castiel wished he could decipher.

“I did what needed to be done,” Castiel said. “I did what our Father would want me to do.”

Lucifer laughed. The sound echoed in Castiel’s ears like rumbles of thunder. “You poor, deluded thing.”

Michael looked repulsed as he spoke. “Take it back, Castiel. Give back the foul thing and return your grace to yourself.”

Castiel straightened. “No. You have trapped me here, and you try to hurt me here, but you cannot control my will here. I am still free.”

Lucifer sneered. “You have never been free, Castiel.”

“Never,” Michael echoed and swept from the room.

Lucifer cast him a look of amusement and followed his brother, and Castiel’s disquiet increased. He’d been sure that when they found out what he’d done, their punishment would be terrible, and yet they had left. What were they planning now?

xXx

What they were planning became obvious very swiftly. They threw themselves into torturing Sam with abandon. He was ripped and torn and shredded and healed again and again with no rest between.

Castiel did not know how long passed, he just knew Sam’s body was becoming more battered and scarred and the grace was not healing it enough. He did not weaken emotionally though. He stayed strong and proud, and Castiel had no fear that he was going to lose him again. He fought.

It was in a very rare reprieve, when Sam and Castiel were alone, that Sam spoke and Castiel finally understood the indefinable expression Sam had worn when Lucifer and Michael had been taunting them. It was guilt.

“Cas,” Sam said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel frowned. “For what?”

“For what you had to do,” Sam said haltingly. “Taking my soul.”

Castiel was sitting on the floor beside Sam, leaning against the rack, so he could not see Sam’s face. He shifted slightly so he could look at him. Sam’s brow was furrowed and he looked like he was fighting tears. “I don’t understand what you are saying,” Castiel said.

Sam sighed and fixed his eyes on the opposite wall, now in flame. “I should have been stronger. If I had, you wouldn’t have felt like you had to do… that. You would have been clean still. I’m sorry.”

“You believe I regret what I did?”

“I don’t think you regret it, you’re Cas, but I know you should never have been driven to that. You were an angel, pure, and now you’ve got my darkness in you.”

“You know,” Castiel said conversationally, “I have known you quite some time now, Sam, and I believe I know you well, and yet I never cease to be surprised by your ability to misconstrue a situation. I did what I had to do because it was the right thing. I saved you because I wanted to.”

“But I’m the abomination. My soul is black,” Sam said miserably. “You shouldn’t have—“

Castiel cut him off with a sharp look. “Sam, you are not the abomination. You are a good man that made a mistake, anyone can do that. Admittedly, your mistake was great, but that was not your fault either. You believed you were acting for the best. As for your soul…” He sighed. “It is not black or corrupt or anything else you may be thinking. It is the purest thing I have ever touched, and it does not make me dark. It makes me light. If I have any regrets about coming here and saving you, it is that I did not do it sooner.”

“But they said…”

“Sam, listen to me,” he said sternly. “I don’t care what they said. I chose to do what I had to do not because of some holy mission, but because I could not bear to see you fall. I saved you because I could not bear the thought of losing you.”

Sam bowed his head and a tear slipped down his cheek. Castiel moved so he was sitting beside Sam again, and he reached an arm around Sam the way he’d seen him sit with Adam when he’d arrived. He was going to give comfort the way he’d learned from Sam, not the boy with the demon blood, not the abomination, his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay… I know Death said ‘The soul can be bludgeoned, tortured, but never broken’ and I kinda rolled right through that with what Castiel did, but it is an AU story, so I’m making up my own rules. I loved the idea of Castiel saving Sam by taking a part of him and leaving a part in return. It seemed poetic that the ‘boy with the demon blood’ *rolls eyes* would be able to have something good in him for a change. 
> 
> In other news… I posted two (technically three, but one’s a sequel) stories since my last update. Summaries are below. If they catch your fancy, give them a look. 
> 
> Howling At The Moon: Post Season Nine Finale. Sam and Castiel have tracked Dean down and now they are going to do whatever it takes to save him. 
> 
> Lamentation In The Veil: Heaven and Hell are shut tight and Sam's finding that death is not necessarily the end anymore. Post S9 AU. Sequel to Howling At The Moon
> 
> The Sound Of Silence Verse: Sam risked everything by going back into the burning house, including his life, but he never thought this would be the price. A series of interconnecting one-shots following the fallout of Sam's choice and the impact on his family. Post 1.21 - Salvation AU
> 
> If you made it all the way to the end of this and are still reading, well done. You should probably rehydrate now and stretch your legs to prevent clots ;-)
> 
> Until next time… 
> 
> Clowns or Midgets xxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Gredlina1 for beta’ing and SandraEngstrom2 for pre-reading. Long-ass author note at the bottom.

**_Chapter Five_ **

The wood of the bar was scratched and mottled, with stains deeply embedded into the varnish. It was a dive by anyone’s standards, but it was exactly what Dean needed. His scowl kept others away, and he was left in peace. The only person he drove himself to speak to was the bartender, and that was only to place each new drink order.

He was a contradiction in the form of a man. When he was alone, in the musty motel rooms he checked into, he wanted company, and when he was among others, he wanted to be alone. He knew what the problem really was. He wanted a particular person’s company, but he wasn’t going to be found in any bar in the world.

He was gone.

Dean downed his whiskey and gestured for another.

He wasn’t supposed to be there. Not in the bar or even the town. He had made a promise, a promise to go to Lisa, but he wasn’t ready yet. Lisa was a good woman, and he was sure she would open her home to him, no matter how broken he was, but it wouldn’t be right. She had a child, a good kid, and he didn’t need to be dragged into Dean’s downward spiral. Dean had lived that childhood, and he didn’t want that for Ben. He wanted to be sure that when he went to them, he would be an asset, not a drain to their family. It was the least he could do.

Even with his noble reasons for staying away from Lisa and Ben, there was still somewhere else he should be, but he couldn’t bear to be there either. To see Bobby would be to see the reflection of his own grief in the older hunter’s eyes, and he couldn’t stand that. It was better for them both to be alone rather than feeding each other’s misery. Bobby disagreed, of course. He called Dean almost daily, filling his voicemail with random news about his day and the hunts he was taking, as if either of them were interesting. He would finish each call the same way, reminding Dean that he had a place to go if he needed it, and asking that he take care of himself. Dean stopped listening to them a month ago, and he never called back, not willing to make any more promises he couldn’t keep.

He was already keeping one too many.

_‘You gotta promise not to try to bring me back’_

Bile rose to the back of Dean’s throat and he picked up the whiskey the bartender had delivered and sipped it, feeling the burn washing away the bile. He wasn’t nearly loaded enough yet. He needed a few more drinks inside him before he could go back to the motel and pass out on the bed. His sleep wouldn’t be peaceful; he always dreamed. They weren’t nightmares in the way you’d expect. He had seen plenty in his life, had experienced true horrors, but they weren’t what came to him at night. In his dreams now, he relived happy moments from his life, good memories, and they were great, except for the point of waking, when he would realize they were dreams and that he would never share those moments again. His life was the nightmare now.

“Dean Winchester.” The voice came from beside him and he heard the relief in the tone.

He wondered idly who it was, another hunter he’d come across before maybe. He turned and grimaced at what he saw. It was a young man in a tailored black suit. Dean knew immediately what this person was: another dick with wings.

“Wrong number,” he said in a cracked voice. “Move along.”

“You are Dean Winchester,” the man said. “I have been searching for you.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders and sipped at his whiskey. “I don’t know who you’ve been looking for, but it’s not me.”

“My name is Isaiah.”

“Good for you.”

“I am a friend of Castiel.”

That piqued Dean’s interest slightly. If Castiel was sending his buddies after Dean, he must really want to see him. Unfortunately, Castiel was shit out of luck. Dean wasn’t getting himself tangled in angel crap anymore. He’d done his part, paid his dues, sacrificed enough. He wasn’t going to get dragged in again.

“I need you to come with me,” Isaiah said, reaching for Dean.

Dean pulled back. “You touch me and I will make sure you regret it,” he threatened.

Isaiah raised an eyebrow, possibly thinking of the futile nature of that threat, and when he spoke, he sounded pissed. “We need you.”

“Why?” Dean asked. “You started another apocalypse?” He laughed slightly. “Sorry, my rule is one apocalypse a year and I don’t go breaking my own rules. You’ll have to come back later.”

“It’s imperative that you come with me,” he said. “Many lives depend on it.”

Dean scoffed. Lives always depended on it, and he was always the one that had to clean up the messes. But he was done. He wasn’t putting himself out there to get kicked in the face again. He had lost too much to the fight now.

“It’s about Sam,” Isaiah said.

Despite the alcohol in his system, Dean moved swiftly and smoothly. He spun off his stool and gripped the angel’s lapels. “You don’t get to say that name!” he growled. “None of you. It’s because of you and what you did that he’s gone, so you don’t get to say it. Understand?”

The man broke his grip easily by the simple expedient of taking a step back. “Because of us? I think your grief has blinded you to the truth. It was not angels that freed Lucifer and it was not angels that allowed your brother to throw himself into the pit.”

“Listen to me you overdressed pile of—“ Dean started, but then he realized the angel wasn’t looking at him anymore. His gaze had become distant and Dean recognized the expression of someone that was tuning into angel radio.

“I must go,” Isaiah said. “I am needed. Go to Bobby Singer’s house. We will find you there to explain.”

“So you say jump and I’m supposed to just…” Dean trailed off as the object of his ire disappeared with a faint rustling sound. “Fuck.”

xXx

Nothing had changed in Bobby’s yard from the last time Dean had been there. He had to wind the Impala through the rows of junkers with broken windshields and rotted tires. Some of those windows could have been broken by Dean himself—as a child, the temptation of rocks and glass had sometimes proved too much. The Chevelle was parked in the service bay, probably crapped out again, and the van was parked at the side of the house. It was all familiar.

He pulled the Impala to a halt beside the van and cut the engine. For just a moment, he questioned whether he should be there or not. Was there really a reason for him to be there, or had Castiel and Bobby plotted to get him there for some kind of intervention? It was only the slimmest possibility that there really was something about Sam he needed to hear that made him climb out of the car and make his way up to the front door.

His hand reached for the handle, to let himself in, but then he paused. For a long time, he’d been comfortable just walking through this door and announcing himself with a shout, but that was before. It had been three months since he’d seen Bobby, and there was every chance that the man’s natural paranoia could have amped up enough for him to be aiming a shotgun at Dean if he just let himself in. Instead, feeling oddly formal, he raised a fist and prepared to knock, but before he could, the door swung open and Bobby was revealed on the threshold.

“You planning on staying out there all day?” he asked gruffly. “Or were you gonna come in sometime soon.”

Dean felt his lips curve into a tight smile, which was all he could manage these days.

Bobby stepped back and Dean walked through the door and into the house. Nothing had changed inside either. The surfaces were all stacked with books and paper and the air had the scent of whiskey, old spice and something musty and unidentifiable. He looked around, searching for something that would indicate that Bobby had changed as much as Dean had, but all he could see that hinted at a change was the two empty whiskey bottles on the counter.

Bobby closed the door behind him and walked through to the library. There was a tumbler of whiskey on the desk, despite the fact it was only a little after noon, and Dean raised an eyebrow as Bobby raised it to his lips, but the older man took a defiant sip. “You going to give me crap about drinking when I can smell the whiskey sweating out of your pores?” he asked.

Dean raised his hands in defeat. The truth was he was surprised Bobby was letting himself go down that slippery slope. When they’d parted, Bobby had been itching for the hunt and when Dean had imagined him in the intervening months, as he had occasionally, he’d imagined him taking care of himself, not following Dean to the bottom of a bottle.

Bobby set his glass down and stepped forward. Dean knew it was coming a moment before it did, and he forced himself to relax rather than stiffening as his body wanted to. Bobby threw his arms around him, held him tight for a beat, and then released him to grip his shoulders and stare him up and down. “You look like hell,” he observed.

Dean huffed a laugh. “You too.” It was true. Bobby had dark circles under his eyes and his skin was pale and wan. Dean thought what he was seeing was probably a mirror of his own face. He hadn’t taken the time to examine his reflection that closely in a while.

“Yeah, well I guess I’ve not been keeping up with my beauty régime lately.”

Silence settled over them, and it wasn’t the comfortable silence Dean was used to sharing with Bobby. There was tension and unsaid things beneath the surface. He didn’t want to talk about Sam or the way the last few months had passed for him, so he asked his own question. “So, some dick angel tracked me down and told me I had to come here. Any idea what the deal is?”

Bobby shook his head. “I don’t know. About a month ago, this angel arrived and started asking about Cas. Had I seen him? Did I know where he was? I told her I didn’t have a clue. I hadn’t seen him since… well, you know. She flapped off and came back a few days later asking about you.“ He shrugged helplessly. “I had no idea where you were, and I told her so, but she’s been popping in every day since, seeing if I heard anything.”

“They told me it had something to do with Sam.”

Bobby looked startled. “You think he’s got out?”

Dean shook his head. “If he had, we’d know about it.”

There was something in Bobby’s expression that Dean couldn’t define clearly. It looked a little like disappointment.

“What?”

Bobby tugged off his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think he’d be gone so long,” he admitted. “I was sure he’d be back by now.”

“Bobby, he’s in the cage, not Malibu. He can’t just hop a flight back when he gets tired of the sun.”

“I know that,” Bobby said stiffly. “I was sure that wouldn’t be the end though. It’s Sam. That boy’s dodged the bullet so many damn times I didn’t know there was a way to make it stick. I was sure you’d do something stupid to get him back.”

Dean felt like he was being chastised for not doing something. As if Bobby was disappointed in him for letting his brother down.

“I promised, Bobby,” he said stiffly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I know,” Bobby said, then his expression softened. “Don’t make it any easier though, does it?”

Dean shook his head. It definitely wasn’t that.

Bobby gave him an assessing look and then said, “You ready to face the angel brigade?”

Dean shrugged. “Sure. I guess we better get it over with.” He was sure that, whatever it was they wanted from him, it would be bad news. They said it was about Sam, but that didn’t mean it was anything good.

He moved to lean against the edge of the desk and watched the dust motes dancing in the bright light streaming through the window, trying to prepare himself for whatever crap-storm was about to descend.

“Um, Inias,” Bobby said, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Dean’s here now.”

There was a soft fluttering sound and a woman appeared in the arch between kitchen and library. If not for the way she arrived, Dean wouldn’t have tagged her as an angel at all. She was wearing dark blue jeans and a flowing shirt. Her long blond hair was pinned back but bangs hung to her eyes. In short, she was hot.

“Dean Winchester,” she said in a stiff tone.

Dean tipped his head. “And you’re Inias?”

Bobby shook his head, looking a little amused, and Dean guessed he had just made some kind of angel faux pas.

She scowled at him. “I am Rachel, Castiel’s lieutenant.”

“Since when does Cas have a lieutenant, other than Uriel I mean?”

“Uriel is dead,” Rachel said.

“Yep,” Dean said with satisfaction. “I celebrated that with a bottle of Jack. It was a good time.”

“Uriel was the lieutenant of Castiel’s garrison. I am the lieutenant of Castiel’s army.”

“Army!” Bobby gaped at her. “Screw lieutenants, since when does he have an army?”

“Since he waged war on Raphael and his followers. That is not your concern though; what matters is what happens now. Castiel is lost, and we need your help.”

“Cas is dead?” Dean thought his ability to feel any emotion other than sadness had left him, but at that news, he felt a jolt of shock.

“No,” Rachel said impatiently. “He is lost.”

“How do you lose an angel?” Bobby asked.

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and drew a deep breath. “We did not merely misplace him. We believe we know where he is, but we are unable to retrieve him. For that, we need your help.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “And what do you need us for?”

“The rings.”

Bobby drew a sharp breath. “You mean he’s…”

Dean felt shock roll over him. Bobby’s voice was quiet, as if he was hearing him from the bottom of a deep well. They needed the rings. There was only one reason they could want them as far as he knew, and that meant Castiel had gone there…

“Castiel’s in Hell?” he asked in a low voice, needing to hear it confirmed before he would believe it.

“We believe so. The last communication I had with him he said he had learned the reason behind God saving him. He left Heaven and no one has had communication with him since.”

“He went to get Sam,” Dean said, sounding as stunned as he felt.

She nodded. “That must have been his intention, but he has not returned.”

“You think they caught him?” Dean asked.

“I can think of no other reason for him to fail to come back to us. He knows the stakes in Heaven and what we are facing.” She looked intently at Dean. “We need the rings.”

“You’re going to open the cage.” It wasn’t a question, and Rachel didn’t answer it. She merely stared into Dean’s eyes, assessing him

Dean’s mind was reeling. They wanted to open the cage. That was pretty much insanity as far as he was concerned. Sure, he’d considered it a hundred times, in the dead of night when the liquor was gone and he felt Sam’s absence most strongly, but he’d never allowed it to get beyond consideration because of the risk. The cage opened, Lucifer walked free. It was simple as that. The cage opened, the world as they knew it ended. It was more than that though. If the cage opened, Sam’s sacrifice would mean nothing. It would be the ultimate betrayal. As much as Dean hated what had happened, he knew it had been Sam’s decision, and he had to respect that. Sam had made his feelings clear. He didn’t want Dean trying to get him out. It was too dangerous. Sam had given up everything, dooming himself to an eternity of pain, and he’d done it knowingly. It had been his choice, his sacrifice.

Did that overpower what Dean wanted and needed?

“Say Dean does give you the rings,” Bobby said, “and we get Sam and Castiel out, how is that going to benefit anyone but the three of us? We get the people we want back, but the world would be back to free falling toward the end. How is that better?”

Rachel tilted her head to the side. “Because, if we don’t get them out ourselves, in a controlled manner, they will be brought out anyway by Raphael. Except, instead of Castiel and Sam being freed alone, Lucifer and Michael will be released, too. The apocalypse will recommence and the world will burn. Castiel and his followers are all that stand in the way of Raphael now.”

Dean realized he was holding his breath, and he drew in a gasp, feeling his lungs expand gratefully. “You telling me Raphael is gunning for the world now?”

“He is a loyal son. He believes, as did Michael, that God wants the battle.” She stared at Dean. “We need those rings.”

Dean shook his head mutely, not in refusal but in sheer incomprehension. How could this be happening? How could there be another damn archangel gunning for the world? It was supposed to be over. Sam was supposed to have stopped it.

“I made a promise,” he said quietly. “I said I’d let it be.”

“And is that a promise you wish to keep?” Rachel asked. “Can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t want your brother returned?”

No. He couldn’t say that. But should he?

He heard himself speaking without consciously articulating his thoughts. “How can you be sure you can do this without letting Michael and Lucifer out?”

“We can’t,” she said, “but at least with this we have a chance at doing it. If Raphael acts, they definitely will.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “I have a question. Last time we saw Lucifer, he was trapped inside Sam. How do you know that getting Sam out isn’t going to be the same thing as bringing Lucifer out?”

Rachel shifted, and for the first time she looked uncomfortable. “We believe Lucifer would have abandoned your brother in the cage, for… ease of access.”

Dean understood that to mean that Lucifer would have abandoned Sam so he could torture him a little easier. The thought sickened him.

“But you can’t be sure,” Bobby said.

“Not until we see him, no. We will know as soon as we lay eyes on him whether or not Lucifer is still inside your brother.”

“And if he is?” Dean asked. “Say you get down there and the devil is still riding shotgun, what are you going to do then?”

“Leave him,” Rachel said simply. “Would you truly want it any other way?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to DerekAndCasAreStubbleBuddies for letting me know that I posted chapter four twice.   
> Sorry for the confusion.


	6. Chapter 6

_‘Leave him. Would you truly want it any other way?’_

The question reverberated around Dean’s mind, taunting him, making his hands fist and his teeth grit.

He knew the _right_ answer, the answer Rachel would want to hear, but he didn’t know whether or not it was the answer he could give and be honest.

He wanted Sam back. If that came at the cost of Lucifer, was it worth it? Was there a way to make it work with Sam sharing his body? Could he control Lucifer, keep him beat down the way he had in the cemetery, or was that expecting too much of his brother?

Dean didn’t know. But he knew what he had to do.

“Will you give me the rings?” Rachel asked.

Dean stared down at the floor for a moment, picking out the stains in the worn carpet. There was only one answer to give, he knew that, but he was afraid to give it. He was afraid to hope. If they went there and Lucifer still had Sam’s body… If they couldn’t bring him out…

It had to be risked though if there was even a chance Sam could be saved.

“Dean,” Bobby pressed. “It’s them or the world, you heard that. If Raphael opens the cage, the world will burn. Everything Sam did would be for nothing.”

“I know,” he said dully. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it, I’ll give you the rings, but you have to promise me something in return.”

A look of exquisite relief settled over Rachel’s features. “Anything.”

“You’ve got to bring my brother out. If Satan’s not riding shotgun, if he’s Sam, you have to bring him out. I don’t care what it takes. You have to do it.”

Rachel considered him for a long moment and then she nodded. “If Lucifer is not in your brother, I will bring him out.”

Dean stared into her eyes, searching for a trace of a lie, and found none. He was far from satisfied, but it was as good as it was going to get.  

“So…” Bobby clapped his hands together. “How do we do this? Where do we do it?”

“The location of the portal is incidental, but we will go to the place it was last opened.”

“Why?” Bobby asked. “If it doesn’t matter where you open it, why not do it in the space out back? The closer Sam is to home when he comes out, the better, right?”

“Because there is not nearly enough room here to mobilize our troops. It will take many angels to impede Michael and Lucifer within the cage, and they will all have to be there at the point of opening. Stull cemetery offers us that space. She smiled slightly. “It also has a perfect kind of symmetry.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that. Something about doing it at Stull seemed right; it clicked together in his mind like a puzzle piece. That was where his brother had been taken away and that was where he would—maybe—return.

“Let’s get gone then,” he said.

Rachel frowned. “You cannot come with us, Dean. We must do this alone.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “You think I’m going hand over the rings and hope Sam makes his way back here okay? No chance. I’m coming with.”

“It’s not safe. If Michael and Lucifer escape, it will be a bloodbath. If they see you, having been among those that sent them to the cage, they will kill you.”

Dean nodded soberly. “Yeah, I know that. Doesn’t mean I’m not coming. If there’s even a chance that Sam’s coming out, I need to be there.” What he didn’t say, but what was heavy in his mind was the fact that he needed to be the first person Sam saw, not some flying dick-monkey angel.

Rachel looked exasperated. “And if your brother does return, and you are dead, how do you think it will affect him?”

“You best make sure that doesn’t happen,” Bobby said firmly. “Besides, dead don’t mean dead for these boys.”

Dean smiled slightly. It really didn’t.

“You should give me the rings for safekeeping,” Rachel said. “We can take you to Stull.”

“No can do,” Dean said. “I need to get them back from where I stashed them. You go get your troops ready or drilled or whatever it is you angels do before risking your necks, and I’ll meet you there.”

She looked like she wanted to argue some more, but Dean stared impassively at her, and eventually she shook her head. “Okay. We will be waiting for you.”

With a rustling sound, she disappeared, leaving Dean and Bobby standing alone in the library. They stayed silent for a moment, each lost in thought and then Bobby spoke up. “So, where’d you stash the rings?”

Dean grinned and pulled them out of his pocket where they had been stowed since the moment he picked them up from the ground after Sam had taken the dive. He’d kept them close for safety and out of some morbid sense of nostalgia. They had been the thing that ultimately had taken Sam away, and as long as he had them, he had an option of getting him back.

“Bobby,” he said conversationally.

“Yeah, Dean.”

Dean looked up and bright, shining happiness blazed in his eyes. “He’s coming back.”

Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. “I know, boy.”

xXx

It was close to dusk by the time they pulled through the gates to Stull cemetery. Dean tried not to think of the last time he’d been here, with _Rock of Ages_ blasting from the stereo and his heart in his throat, but the memories battered at him regardless, and it was with a sense of deep trepidation that he climbed out and made his way across the rough grass toward Rachel.

“Thought you said you’d need many angels to do this,” he said. Rachel was flanked by two other angels but there was no one else in sight. Dean wondered idly if she’d had trouble convincing them to risk their necks.

“They are here,” she said.

Dean raised a hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun and looked around theatrically. “Really?”

Rachel raised her hand in some kind of signal and the angels started to appear. Ten… twenty… thirty… Dean’s mind reeled as he tried to count them all. They just kept appearing, a mass of men and women in tailored suits as far as he could see in the distance and all seeming to share a look of concentration and expectation. If this was Castiel’s army, Dean had been underestimating the raw power his friend possessed for over two years.

“Satisfied?” Rachel asked.

Dean nodded mutely. He was more than satisfied. If this sheer force of angelic power couldn’t save his brother, nothing could.

He pulled the rings out of his pocket and turned them in his hand, examining them, then he turned to Rachel. “How do we do this?”

She smiled slightly. “We thought perhaps you would like to be the one to do it, so to speak. Do you remember the Enochian needed?”

Like he could forget. They were the last words he’d heard his brother speaking. Something like that had a way of burning itself into your memory. He nodded.

“Then whenever you are ready. This will happen fast. Once the portal is opened, we will have a very short time to retrieve them. We plan to use brute force rather than stealth; we feel it will give us the best chance at success.”

Dean looked at the amassed angels and wondered how many of them were going to survive this. Did they know the risk they were taking? Did they even care? Was getting Castiel out, for them, enough reason to fly toward death? He didn’t know.

“You ready for this, boy?” Bobby asked quietly.

Dean forced a smile. “I was born ready.” Despite his outer confidence, Dean was worried. He was so close to getting Sam out, he could almost see him beside him, but at the same time he was terrified that the angels were going to fail, or worse; they could succeed, saving Castiel, but failing his brother.

“Best get to it then,” Bobby said.

Dean dropped the rings down onto the ground and took a deep breath. It was time.

“Bvtmon tabges babalon.” The Enochian fell awkwardly from his tongue, but it was enough; it was working.

The rings seemed to sink into the earth as a gaping hole appeared. Bobby grabbed Dean and dragged him back as the portal widened. There was a sound like an enormous sail flapping in the wind, and one by one, the angels disappeared from his view, diving into battle and probably their deaths.

xXx

They were in what had become their usual pose, sitting on the floor and leaning up against the end of the rack. Castiel had an arm around Sam’s shoulders, and he was trying to comfort the younger man. Sam was struggling. He was not at risk of failing now, Castiel’s grace ensured that, but his spirit was flagging after a long period on the rack. Castiel had begun to believe that they would keep him there forever, but Michael had eventually tired of hearing Sam’s cries, and they had abandoned their pleasure for a while.  

One of their only peaceful pastimes was talking quietly together. They would exchange stories: Sam’s about his life before with Dean, and Castiel’s about his many millennia on earth. Castiel was happy to talk, as it seemed to soothe Sam, but he much preferred to listen. Sam had a wealth of stories and very many of them were humorous.

“You glued his hand to a beer bottle?” Castiel asked.

“It was his fault really,” Sam said softly. “He started it. I was just returning what he was handing out, but it took him an hour to soak the thing off, and I had to make a run out for nail varnish remover.” He laughed slightly. “I think the sales lady thought it was for me.”

Castiel shook his head, his lips curving into a smile. “I never saw this side of your brother.”

Sam sighed heavily, and Castiel looked down to see his smile had been replaced by a frown. “That’s ‘cause of me.”

Castiel frowned. “How so?”

“Because when you came, Dean had just been—“

Castiel’s head snapped up. He had heard it too; a deep, echoing rumble. And then there were voices, shrieking and bellowing, war cries and articulated threats. It was a cacophony of noise that hurt Castiel’s ears.

“What’s that?” A quiver of fear made its home in Sam’s voice.

Castiel couldn’t believe they would do this, that they would risk this much. From the sounds he heard, he knew at least half of his army had been dispatched. Why would Rachel allow this to happen? She should have taken command in his stead. He could not believe that she, an experienced soldier, would have sanctioned this madness.

“Castiel!” He heard his name being shrieked in Enochian, and there was unendurable agony in the tone. He recognized the voice; it was Evelyn. She was hurting, because of him.

“Cas, what is it?” Sam asked in a tremulous voice.

Reason caught up with Castiel. He was still sitting with Sam cowering at his side. He needed to move. To act. All this had been done for him, and he was wasting time and lives because he _still_ hadn’t moved.

He lurched to his feet and raced around the rack to where Adam’s corpse lay. He ripped back his coat and scooped Adam into his arms. His eyes were dead and empty, but Castiel could feel that small spark of life, of soul, in his body that would be his only chance. Cradling Adam in one arm, he tangled the other around the sleeve of his coat.

“Sam,” he shouted. “Come here.”

Sam crossed the room in long strides and stood in front of Castiel. “Cas, what’s happening?”

“They have come for us,” Castiel said briskly. “We are going to be saved.”

Sam’s eyes were wet and when he blinked, a tear slipped down his cheek. “I’m scared.”

Castiel was too, but he couldn’t allow Sam to see that. “Here,” he said, reaching out to Sam. “Hold onto me. No matter what happens, do not let go!”

Sam nodded jerkily and reached out to grip Castiel’s hand.

“Come,” Castiel said, and led them from the room, tangled as they were.

It was chaos. Lucifer and Michael were surrounded by angels, Castiel’s family, and they were slashing out with their blades again and again. Angels were ripped and torn apart and healing instantly. Their pain was immense and their screams piercing. Castiel had never felt so much shame in his life. This was all because of him.

“Cas,” Sam said in a weak voice, and it snapped Castiel back to what was happening. He spread his wings and took flight, dragging Sam into the air with him toward freedom. He felt the moment Sam’s grip went limp in his and he gripped his hand tighter. Sam was unconscious in this place of no rest, and that was bad. He had to get him out to the world again, before he perished beyond what even grace could heal—a broken mind.

He felt wings rushing around him, and knew he was surrounded. The only thing he didn’t know was whether it was his own army that flew around him or Michael and Lucifer making their way toward liberty. He couldn’t look. His focus was on the light above them, the dull red light of a sunset.

Then everything changed again. Sam’s hand strained against his grip and he looked to see Rachel had wrapped her arms around Sam’s limp form.

“No!” Castiel cried.

“You are weakened, Castiel,” she shouted. “Let me take him.”

Castiel knew it was the truth. Despite the power of Sam’s soul burning within him, he was failing too. His grief and guilt were overwhelming him. With a sensation like being torn in two, he released Sam into Rachel’s arms and gripped Adam tighter. He had to save him.

They breached the surface of the earth into a rush of voices and light. Castiel’s eyes wanted to squeeze shut, but he couldn’t allow himself. He had to see Sam. He looked down and saw Rachel setting Sam roughly down and then taking flight again. She gripped Castiel’s shoulders and tugged him upward.

“No! I must stay. I must know.”

“Come, Castiel,” she said firmly.

He felt other hands gripping him. He could see nothing but wings around him, sweeping him upward, taking him home, taking him away from Sam.

He let out an involuntary cry of misery.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… They’re out. I imagined the final scene in this chapter for as long as I had the story idea, and it was so good when I finally sat down to write it. I hope I did it justice.   
> Thanks for the reviews and alerts for the last chapter. I appreciate it more than I can say.   
> Until next time…   
> Clowns or Midgets xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter Seven_ **

 

Cries of jubilation and grief combined welcomed Castiel home. Of the billions of heavens on offer, Rachel had chosen a cathedral for his return. The high vaulted ceiling and stained glass windows were beautiful, but Castiel did not want to see them. He wanted a library with books and papers littering every surface and the scent of whiskey in his nose. He wanted family _._

He could have left there and then. He could have gone back to Sam and carried him away from that field to the only home Castiel knew him to have, but duty held him in place. There were things he must attend to first.

He rounded on Rachel. “How could you do this?”

Rachel stiffened. “How can you ask that? You were needed, Castiel. Heaven needed you.”

“How many?” Castiel asked through gritted teeth. “How many of our family were lost because you were afraid to lead in my place? And how many escaped? Are we now facing three archangels in place of one?”

“They didn’t escape,” Rachel said. “I saw the portal seal over them both, and none perished.”

“No!” Castiel said, and there was terrible fury in his voice. “They will suffer a worse fate because of you. They will be trapped in that place with the greatest foes you could have set them against. They will be unable to defend themselves against that pain. I know. I have felt it!”

Rachel looked down at the flagstone floor and her voice was quiet as she answered. “There are worse things, Castiel. Such as the death of creation. They all knew what they were risking. They made the choice to save us from Raphael.”

“Because they knew no better!” Castiel shouted. “They are like children in the face of what is happening. They would do anything to save our Father’s creation, including destroying themselves. Except they won’t even have that comfort. You should have lined them up and smote them one by one rather than leaving them to that fate.”

As quickly as it had come, Castiel’s anger seeped out of him. He felt drained and wounded in his deepest places. He was grieving for the angels that had been left in his place and feeling terrible guilt. All this because of him.

“Who is that?” Rachel asked, and Castiel looked down into his arms and saw the dimly burning remains of Adam’s soul. It should have been a blinding light, but it was not; the damage he had suffered was too great.

“It is Adam,” he said, “the third Winchester brother. He perished in the cage. I am going to deliver him to his mother’s heaven; he will find peace there. ”

Despite the fact he was now returned to heaven and its power, Castiel could not return Adam to his body. It would result in a man devoid of life. He would exist until his body broke down and failed, which would happen too quickly. It was better that he be given some semblance of home for his eternity. Being close to his mother’s soul should comfort him.

“Would you like me to take him?” a nervous voice asked, and Castiel turned to Inias who had remained silent until that point.

“No. I feel that this is something I should do myself. Besides, there is something more pressing that I need your assistance with.”

“Anything, Castiel, you know that.”

“I need you to go to Sam Winchester. See that he is safe and protected. Tell them I shall return as soon as I am able. If they have moved from Stull, you will find them in Bobby Singer’s house. Do you know where that is?”

Inias nodded and strode from the vast room. Satisfied that Sam would be taken care of in his absence, he turned to Rachel. “Does Raphael know what happened?”

“I do not know. He has not moved against us, which makes me think not, but we cannot be sure.”

Castiel nodded. “I want an assembly of our soldiers in place for when I return. I must take Adam to his mother and address our troops.”

And then, Castiel thought, he could get back to Sam.

xXx

Dean was thrown back by the force that shot out of the portal. His eyes squeezed shut against the combined blinding force of the sunset and the white light of so many angels streaking upward.

The noise came and ended swiftly, as if someone had cranked the volume up and then hit the pause button. His eyes opened slowly and he looked around. Bobby was at his side, looking as though he’d been knocked on his ass and was now recovering, too.

“You okay, Bobby?”

Bobby nodded mutely, but his eyes weren’t on Dean. They were fixed on something ahead of him. Dean’s eyes followed his path and he could suddenly feel his blood rushing through his veins.

It was Sam.

He was lying on his stomach, with his cheek pressed against the ground, looking away from Dean and Bobby. He wasn’t moving, but he was there.

“Sammy!” Dean gasped. He crawled across the distance to his brother and spun him roughly onto his back. He wasn’t aware that he was crying until the tear splashed down onto Sam’s face, making it look as though they were both crying at their reunion.

“Sam! Sam! Sammy!”

Sam did not respond. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted. He looked dead.

“Bobby!” Dean said desperately. “Help me!”

Bobby dropped to his knees beside Dean. His face was a mask of calm, though his eyes gave him away; he was terrified. He pressed his fingers to Sam’s throat and then laid a hand over Sam’s chest. Dean felt a rush of exquisite relief as he saw Bobby’s hand rise and fall with Sam’s breaths.

“He’s alive,” Bobby said shakily.

Dean sat back on his haunches and stared up the sky. For the first time in a long time, he was speaking to an angel when he said a fervent, _‘Thank you.’_ He was speaking to every angel that had done this, that had risked themselves to save his brother.

“Sam!” Dean said harshly, patting his brother’s cheek roughly. “Wake up!”

For all the good it did, Dean may as well not have tried. The only change in Sam was that his head jolted a little against Dean’s palm and his mouth opened a little wider.

“C’mon, Sam,” Bobby said. “Time to rise and shine.”

He pinched Sam’s earlobe hard, Dean saw the skin whiten under his fingers. When that yielded no response, Bobby rubbed his knuckles hard against Sam’s sternum, but Sam did not react. Dean had seen enough _Dr. Sexy. M.D._ to know that was a bad sign.

“Bobby,” he said in a raw, broken voice, “what’s wrong with him?”

“You think I know?” Bobby said roughly, and then he shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I know we’re doing no good here. We’ve got to get him back to my place. C’mon.”

He got to his feet and made his way over to the car. He opened the rear door and then came back and looped his arms under Sam’s shoulders. Dean scrambled up and took Sam’s legs. Feeling sickened by what he had to do, Dean helped carry Sam to the car and ease him onto the back seat. Sam was too tall, and they had to fold his legs into a position that would be uncomfortable if he was conscious. When he was sure Sam was as secure as they could make him, he climbed in behind the wheel and gunned the engine. It roared to life and vibrated the seat slightly. Bobby climbed in beside him and looked over the back of the seat at Sam.

“Keep an eye on him, Bobby.”

“You know it. You just concentrate on not wrapping us around a tree.”

Dean put the car in gear and eased them out of the cemetery and onto the main road. Despite Bobby’s warning, Dean’s eyes slid to the rear-view mirror every so often, checking for signs that Sam was stirring.

xXx

The drive back to Bobby’s took too long, hours too long, and Sam didn’t even crack an eyelid. After the first hour of trying to reassure Dean with worthless words of comfort, only to receive biting remarks in return, Bobby fell silent; he just stared over the seat at Sam—who still wasn’t moving.

Eventually, they came to Bobby’s street, and Dean slowed the car slightly. The last thing they needed was Sheriff Mills or one of her deputies pulling them over for speeding. Dean turned the car in at Bobby’s gate and weaved through the junkers to the house.

As they rounded the corner, they saw there was a man standing on the porch. Dean cursed at the sight of the angel—it wasn’t Castiel—but Bobby exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s okay. It’s Inias. He’s one of Cas’ guys.”

Dean pulled the car to a halt and Bobby climbed out. He raised a hand to the angel, beckoning him forward, and Inias came.

“Help us out,” Bobby said. “We’ve got to get him inside.”

Inias nodded curtly and came around to the rear door where Dean was waiting. He didn’t want this angel touching Sam, he didn’t want anyone touching him, but he knew there was no way he could get Sam down to the panic room, even with Bobby’s help, and that was where he wanted him. He didn’t know who else would be coming for them, but the panic room was the most easily defendable place.

He gripped Sam’s shoulders and eased him out of the car and into Inias’ arms. It looked a little ludicrous, seeing Sam cradled in the arms on this average-height man. But he was cradling Sam carefully against his chest, resting Sam’s head against his shoulder. It was the way Dean would have held Sam had he been able to.

“Where should I take him?” Inias asked.

“Basement,” Bobby said brusquely. “Follow me.”

Bobby unlocked the door and led them through the hall and down the steps to the basement. Dean followed at the rear. His eyes were fixed on Sam, searching for a sign, any sign that he was waking up. Bobby flipped on the light and opened the door. It creaked loudly and the sound made the hair rise on the back of Dean’s neck. The panic room meant bad news. It meant demon blood withdrawal and hiding shelter from the witnesses and being handcuffed to the cot to stop him going to Michael. Nothing good had ever happened there, but it was the safest place for Sam until he woke.

Bobby dragged the cot into the middle of the room and gestured to the angel to lay Sam down. He did so, incredibly gently, and Dean hurried across the room to reposition Sam’s head on the pillow so he looked comfortable. Against the grey striped sheets, Sam looked pale and wan. There were shadows under his eyes as if he was dragging a sleepless night with him. Dean didn’t like to look at him like that, but he couldn’t look away. It was Sam. He was really there.

“Inias,” Bobby said softly. “Did…” He cleared his throat. “Did Cas get out?”

Inias smiled. “Yes. I have seen him. He is in Heaven now.”

“And did we get them out clean or are there three archangels gunning for the world now?”

Dean was a little ashamed that he hadn’t even thought of Cas or Michael and Lucifer since they left Stull. Having Sam back eclipsed all that, but now he recognized his lapse. He should have been calling Castiel till he answered. He should have checked whether his friend had made it out, too.

“Michael and Lucifer are trapped still. We were fast enough to close the portal before they could escape.”

Dean sighed with relief. Raphael still sounded like a sack full of trouble but at least the two mighty douches hadn’t got out, too. One archangel they could deal with, maybe, but three was a little out of their league.

xXx

Angels seemed to have infinite patience. Hours passed and Inias stood just outside the panic room door. He didn’t look bored. He remained alert and tensed for action, but silent. It was like having a mute marine on duty.

Dean’s patience was spent before they’d even left Stull, and his tension only grew as they waited for Sam to wake, to twitch, to change his deep steady breaths, to give any sign that he was still in there. He vacillated between begging silently and threatening Sam vocally.

When the dawn rolled around, lightening the sky above the giant vent set into the ceiling, Dean had an idea.

“Inias,” he said, aware that he was addressing the angel by name for the first time. “Is there anything you can do? Like mind meld with Sam. Castiel has popped into my dreams before, and Anna managed it once. Maybe if you could talk to him you could snap him out of this.”

For the first time, Inias looked uncomfortable. “I could…” he began. “But I would not advise it. Your brother is not sleeping; he is deeply unconscious. To attempt to break into that would be dangerous. I believe that what is happening to his is a natural response to an unnatural situation. He went through great trial, both in the cage and through the portal, and that has weakened him. I do not believe adding an angel’s intervention into that would be good for him.”

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his short hair. He just wanted Sam awake. Was that too much to ask? He wanted to talk to him, to reassure him; he would need it. Dean had firsthand experience of post-hell emotional jet lag and Sam had always felt things much more deeply than Dean. He would need his brother. And Dean was ready for that. He would do whatever Sam needed, just as soon as he _woke up!_

xXx

Dean didn’t mean to fall asleep. But after twenty-four hours of extreme tension, he couldn’t help it. Bobby had brought them chairs down hours ago, and he was sitting beside Dean, both of them facing the cot and Sam.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep and he wasn’t sure what woke him at first, but he jerked awake with a soft gasp and sore neck. Bobby was asleep in his chair, too, with his chin resting on his chest. Dean stretched and then paused with his arms above his head.

Sam was awake. Dean stared at him for a long moment, trying to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

“Sam?” he said, sounding as stunned as he felt.

Sam’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Hey, Dean.”

“Sammy?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

He lurched to his feet and crossed the distance between them in two strides, and then his arms were around his brother, and he was fisting the fabric of his shirt in his hands. He didn’t care that Sam hadn’t got to his feet to meet him; he just cared that it was his _awake_ brother that he was holding and that he seemed okay.

After a long moment, he pulled back and gripped Sam’s shoulders. “Damn, Sam, that was a hell of a nap.”

Sam smiled again.

“You okay?” Dean asked, sounding a little worried now.

Sam nodded. “Dean,” he said softly. “Where’s Cas?”

Dean gnawed on his bottom lip. “Heaven.”

“Okay. That’s…” He trailed off as he caught sight of something behind Dean. He got to his feet in one smooth movement and walked past Dean as if he wasn’t there.

Dean turned and saw Castiel standing on the threshold. Then Castiel stepped forward and opened his arms wide.

“I am here, Sam,” Castiel said. “I came."

Sam stepped into his embrace and spoke in a whisper Dean wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear. “I knew you would.”


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter Eight_ **

Sam woke in increments. The first thing to return to him was sound, and he marveled at what he heard. He felt like he was in the middle of a crowded auditorium and everyone was speaking at once. But these voices were like nothing he’d ever heard before in his life. They were beautiful, soft and musical, and he wanted to listen to them forever. Random words slipped through the hum, he heard his own name and Castiel’s among them, and the voices sounded both jubilant and overwhelmed all at once. The sound was a hum.

The next thing to come to him was touch. He was lying on something soft with hard lines beneath. They were not the harsh lines of the rack though, so he didn’t panic. He flexed his fingers and felt his blood rushing through them, as if he had been holding them into tight fists too long and now he had freed them. His body seemed to buzz slightly. The sensation was familiar and new at the same time, and he puzzled over that for a moment before shrugging it off as unimportant.

He drew in a deep breath and was met with familiar scents. He knew immediately where he was. He focused on what he was hearing outside of the hum and heard the thrum of the vent; it was like a giant heartbeat. That meant he was in the panic room. He loved Bobby’s house. He’d spent weeks here as a child when his father had been off on hunts—it was the closest thing to a home he had outside of the Impala—but he hated the panic room. The connotations it held were dark and painful. And yet… he didn’t feel it now. He felt perfectly peaceful.

He opened his eyes and his vision was filled with the rippling devil’s trap. He looked to the side and smiled slightly. Dean and Bobby were there, fast asleep on chairs with their chins touching their chests. Sam felt a surge of love for them both. They were here. They were with him. They made sure he didn’t wake up alone.

That feeling of love blossomed within him and lifted him, increasing the sense of serenity he felt.

Sam had never been at peace in his life, not that he could remember. Perhaps in those perfect six months before his mother died, he would have felt it, cradled in her arms, but he had no memory of that. He felt it now though. Everything in him was calm and serene. The adrenaline that was always so close to the surface was absent now. He did not need it. He was with his family in the most protected place he knew. There was no need for fear. He swung his legs around and perched on the edge of the cot.

Dean woke with a soft gasp, and his eyes drifted to the side, to Bobby. His arms came up above his head in a stretch and he glanced at Sam. His arms froze above his head and he stared at Sam with a look of immense shock and maybe a little wonder.

“Sam?”

Sam smiled slightly. “Hey, Dean.” It felt so good to say the name, to be addressing his brother after all this time apart. He didn’t know how long it had been for Dean, but it had felt like forever for him.

“Sammy?”

He knew what Dean was going through. He remembered it well: how it had felt to see him standing on the threshold of that motel room when Dean had been saved. The way the shock had rolled over him and the fury that his brother’s memory had been defiled by something dark. He remembered how right it had felt to grip the hilt of that knife in his hand and lurch toward him, intent on revenge. Then Bobby had spoken and Sam’s world had been turned upside down again. ‘It's really him’.

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

Dean was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room and throwing his arms around Sam. Sam absorbed the embrace, feeling the sense of serenity increasing. Dean was here. It was all okay.

And then Dean released him and gripped his shoulders. “Damn, Sam, that was a hell of a nap.”

Sam smiled again.

“You okay?” Dean sounded concerned now, and Sam realized he was worrying his brother.

He rallied for something to say and stumbled across a pressing question. “Dean, where’s Cas?”

Dean looked uncomfortable and his teeth bit into his bottom lip. “Heaven.”

He should have expected it. Where else would an angel be? At least he was out, Sam thought, even if they weren’t together. “Okay,” he said. “That’s…”

Then he saw him, and his words trailed off. The last image he had from before was Castiel’s face as he changed from the man Sam knew into a thing composed of pure, brilliant light. Now he was Cas again, in his trenchcoat and with his tie askew. He was looking at Sam the way Dean had, as if not sure what he was seeing was real.

Sam got to his feet without conscious instruction and walked toward Castiel. The angel crossed the threshold and came into the room with his arms wide, ready to receive Sam, and suddenly there was nothing Sam wanted more, no place he’d rather be, than encapsulated in Castiel’s arms again, not taking comfort the way he had in the cage, but confirming their freedom.

“I am here, Sam,” Castiel said. “I came.”

Sam stepped into his arms and spoke in a whisper. “I knew you would.”

They held onto each other for a long time, neither apparently wanting to pull back and break the embrace. Then someone cleared their throat roughly, and Sam released the fabric of Castiel’s coat and turned back to the room.

Bobby was awake; it seemed to be him that had made the noise, as he was watching them with a raised eyebrow now. “Hey, Bobby,” Sam said with a fond smile.

Bobby stepped forward and then hesitated before pulling Sam into a hug. His strong arms wrapped around Sam, holding him for a moment and then pushing him back so he could look him up and down.

“You okay?” he asked. “You need anything?”

Sam assessed himself. He was hungry and thirsty, but those feelings felt secondary to the fulfillment of his return.

“Sam?” Dean pressed, and Sam realized he had been quiet too long again. Bobby and Dean were looking at him expectantly, and he knew they needed something, but he didn’t know what. It was as they were expecting him to freak out suddenly, but he had never felt better.

“I could use a sandwich?” he framed it as a question, and they both seemed to come to life again with the request.

“’Course,” Bobby said. “You’ve got to be starving.”

“Come on,” Dean said, tugging on his arm and leading him to the door.

Sam allowed himself to be led out of the panic room and up the stairs. He looked back at the door, to check Castiel was still there, and received a nod in return. Castiel would have to go sooner or later, but for that moment, he was there, and that was good.

When they got to the kitchen, Dean pushed Sam at one of the chairs and then set to work, pulling things out of the fridge and handing them to Bobby. They were like surgeons working together, and Sam was reminded irresistibly of Lucifer and Michael in the cage. His eyes roved until he found Castiel, standing by the arch. Their eyes met and Sam knew they were thinking the same thing.

Castiel crossed the room and pulled out the chair beside Sam. He sat down and then shifted it closer, scraping the legs across the linoleum, until their knees were pressed together. Sam smiled slightly at him and received one in return. Then Sam realized the sound of preparation had faltered and he looked up. Dean and Bobby had paused mid-action—Dean was gripping a loaf of bread and Bobby had a bottle of mayo in his hand—staring at them. Sam thought that perhaps it looked a little odd, for them to be sat so close together, but they didn’t mind their scrutiny. He wasn’t going to move.

“How are you?” Castiel asked softly. His voice was low, so low it was clear he was speaking to Sam alone, but Dean and Bobby scrutinized him as he considered his answer.

“I’m fine,” Sam said.

“Really?” Bobby asked, looking uncomfortable. “Because it’s okay not to be, fine, you know?”

“I am though.” He smiled slightly. “Just hungry.” He wasn’t lying. He was fine. He knew he shouldn’t be, he should probably be reeling from what he’d been through, but he wasn’t. Hell was like a bad dream or a book he’d read once. He remembered it all, but the only thing that stayed with him, that resonated with him now, was Castiel.

Bobby nodded and turned back to the counter. Dean just watched him, silent and attentive. Sam pushed his hair back from his face and looked out of the window at the bright sun reflecting off the junkers. He could feel Dean’s gaze on him, and while it should have agitated him, it didn’t. He understood why Dean would be looking, as he had once felt the same.

Bobby presented a sandwich with flourish and set it down in front of Sam. “Here you go, boy.”

Sam smiled his thanks and took a bite. It was good, and his stomach received the food gratefully. He wondered idly how long it had been since he’d eaten, how long he’d been gone. He chewed and swallowed then asked.

“About three months,” Dean said. “Feels longer, right?”

Sam nodded vaguely and looked to Castiel. “How long were you there?”

“I believe two earth months have passed since I came to you. It’s transcribes to Hell time as…” He trailed off. “Well, you remember how it was.”

Sam remembered well. He remembered the unending days of pain and the crippling misery. He remembered cowering under Castiel’s arms. He remembered losing Adam. He remembered being so close to perishing himself. He remembered that Castiel saved him.

“Cas,” he said softly. “Did Adam…”

Dean gasped. “Adam!”

“He was saved, too,” Castiel said, ignoring Dean. “He is free now. I have taken him to his mother’s heaven. He will be at peace there. He may even recover somewhat.”

“Recover?” Dean said, and there was a bite of anger in his tone. “Recover from what?”

“Hell,” Sam said simply. Dean looked at him expectantly, waiting for more, but Sam found he didn’t want to talk about that. He wasn’t despairing, he was still peaceful, but he didn’t want to have to explain what had happened to their brother in his care, or his own culpability in it. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he didn’t mind when Castiel took up the explanation for him.

“Adam… perished in the cage.”

“He died?” Dean asked. “How can he die in Hell? He’s got to be dead to be there, right?”

“Adam’s soul was the thing that perished. It is not dead in the literal sense of the word, a soul cannot be destroyed completely, but the damage it suffered was so great that it became less that the barest spark of life, unable to feel. It is that mere spark that is in Heaven now with his mother.”

“But Sam…” Dean said, and Sam shifted uncomfortably under his and Bobby’s combined gaze. They seemed to be searching him for signs that he too was damaged, close to perishing. He decided then and there that he would do whatever it took to keep the fact he’d almost followed Adam down that path from them. They didn’t need to know how close he had come, and they didn’t need to know how Castiel had saved him. He doubted they, Dean least of all, would understand.

“Sam is fine,” Castiel said.

Sam nodded serenely and took another bite of his sandwich. He felt fine, better than fine. He’d been through hell and he’d made it out intact. Adam was at the closest thing to peace that was possible for him now. He had his family around him and Castiel was there. He had never imagined he would have this peace again. The only thing he was wanting for now was the chance to speak to Castiel alone. He wanted to talk to him about the hum in his mind. Castiel would know what to do; there was no need to trouble Dean with it.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable, and cleared his throat. He opened his mouth a few times only to snap it closed again without speaking. Then he spoke in a rush and Sam was sure what he said wasn’t what he intended to say. “Cas, you should have told me you were going in after Sam.”

“How would that have been helpful to anyone?”

“I would have known. I _should_ have known. You don’t go doing something that huge without letting someone know. You don’t do something like that period. Not alone.”

“I was attempting to save Sam,” Castiel said patiently.

“I know, and believe me, I’m grateful. I’m just saying, you don’t do something like that alone. You take backup.”

Sam felt a flare of sadness separate to his confusion. He puzzled over the emotion for a moment, wondering what it meant, then shrugged it off as unimportant when Castiel spoke.

“Backup would have meant putting other angels in danger of…” He shook his head. “I cannot make you understand, Dean, but I know I did the right thing.” He shifted slightly closer to Sam. It was only a matter of millimeters, but Sam felt the difference.

“Well, we’re grateful,” Bobby said gruffly. “Damn grateful, Cas.”

There was an expectant silence and Sam realized he was supposed to be saying something. He turned to the angel and stared deep into the blue eyes that had been one of the only light spots for him for so long.

“Thank you, Cas.”

Castiel smiled and laid his hand over Sam’s where it rested on the table. “You are welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I had the idea for this story, the first thought was that hooked me in was Castiel and Sam in Hell together. The second was the idea that Sam and Castiel’s bond would be more than just sharing grace and soul. I wanted a connection that was more than emotional and I wanted Sam to have something good inside him, something opposite in nature to the demon blood. I think I succeeded in explaining that, but if you have questions, feel free to drop me a line.   
> Until next time…  
> Clowns or Midgets xxx


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter Nine_ **

Castiel was a child.

He was a hero, too. He’d saved Sam from Hell, and that was a debt Dean would never be able to repay, but there were things he just didn’t _get_ :like Sam. Like when Sam pushed away his plate and asked, “So, what did I miss?” the correct response was, “Nothing, Sam.” Castiel didn’t get that.

It wouldn’t have satisfied Sam at first, but they could have distracted him with stories of Bobby’s hunts and maybe more food and beer. Dean knew Bobby would have been onboard with that plan—he knew what Sam needed almost as well as Dean did—but before they could get a word in, Castiel spoke up and dropped the ‘I am at war with Raphael’ bomb.

“You mean civil war?” Sam said in an awed tone.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Raphael and his followers want him to rule Heaven. That is the last thing I and my followers want.”

“And if he rules…” Sam said.

“Then the apocalypse will be recommenced. Michael and Lucifer will be freed, and the whole dread mess will start again.”

Dean expected Sam to look afraid, freaked, at least worried, but Sam’s expression was a mask. Dean wasn’t used to that. He could always read Sam by his face. He knew when Sam was hurting, when he was lying, when he was upset. He knew it all just by looking, even if he didn’t know the reasoning behind it, but he couldn’t see anything now.

Hell, Dean’d had more of a reaction than Sam, and he wasn’t just sprung from the cage. If anything, Sam should be the most freaked of them all.

“I will not allow it to happen,” Castiel said, and Dean noticed he wasn’t speaking to them all, he was addressing Sam.

“How are you going to stop him?” Sam asked.

Castiel sighed. “I do not know, but I will find a way. I must.”

“Well, anything we can do, Cas…” Sam said. “You’ve just got to ask.”

Dean nodded his agreement. He would do whatever he could to help. Not just because it was the world at stake, again, but because this was Castiel’s fight and Dean owed him.

Castiel looked at them one by one, coming to rest on Sam’s face. He smiled slightly. “That is no less than I would expect from you, Sam, from any of you, but this is one fight you cannot join. It’s too dangerous.”

Dean frowned. “So we’re supposed to just sit back and let you risk your neck alone?”

“I am not alone,” Castiel said serenely. “I have a host of angels at my command.”

“You know what I mean,” Dean said dismissively. “We can’t just…” He trailed off. He didn’t know what to say.

Castiel smiled. “You can, Dean. You have to. It is not safe for you to be involved.”

Things had never been safe for them. They were the ones that put themselves at risk for other people. That was the point.

“Dean,” Castiel said gently. “This time, it is not your fight.”

Did that matter? It was true that the big fights they had come up against had been personal, Azazel, Lilith and Lucifer; they had all ties to the Winchesters which had made it their responsibility to deal with them. This was Castiel’s fight, but he was family too.

“It is,” he said firmly.

Castiel opened his mouth to reply but Sam caught his eye. His head had snapped up as if someone had called his name. Dean hadn’t heard anything though. Sam was looking at Castiel now, and there was a look of intense concentration on the angel’s face as he looked back at Sam.

“I have to leave,” Castiel said regretfully. “I will come back as soon as I can.” Dean noticed that he seemed to be speaking only to Sam again.

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

Given how happy Sam had been to see Castiel when he arrived, Dean was surprised that Sam was willing to let him go so easily. He didn’t seem upset or worried, he just looked… happy? That wasn’t right. He wasn’t happy, but he was kinda mellowed out. Like he used to if he’d had a couple of beers and were just settling down to watch a movie… before: in the days before deals and demon blood and the apocalypse. He definitely did _not_ look as though he’d just been sprung from the pit by a legion of angels.

Something was wrong, or maybe that should be right. Whatever it was, it worried Dean a little.

xXx

Dean wanted to be there for his brother, but he didn’t want to hover. He figured that Sam would come to him when he needed him. If there were two things in the world that you could count on it was that the sun would always rise and that Sam would seek out a chick-flick moment. Dean was relying on it. So when Sam disappeared to shower, he left Bobby clearing up the kitchen and went outside.

He’d not given the Impala a service in too long to think of—when he hadn’t been focused on the end of the world, he’d been focused on what it’d cost to save it—so he drove it into the service bay and popped the hood.

He’d been rooting around the engine for about fifteen minutes when he heard footsteps on the planks of the porch. Smiling slightly, he spoke without extricating his head from the hood. “Hey, Sammy. Hand me a metric wrench, will ya?”

“Sure,” Bobby said, “as long as you don’t call me Sammy again.”

Dean jerked his head out, cracking his crown on the open hood. “What are you doing here?”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Last I checked, this was my property.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“Still in the shower, I’m guessing. You need him for something?”

Dean shook his head. “I guess not.”

Bobby leaned against the side of the car and crossed his arms over his chest. He had that look about him, the one that told Dean they were about to get into it, so he wiped his oily hands on a rag and waited for Bobby to start.

“Cas is right,” he said eventually.

“About what?”

“This war. We can’t be part of it, Dean.”

Dean frowned. He thought if anyone was going to advocate saddling up and taking out the douche, it was Bobby. He’d never shirked from a fight before. He’d always been there, even when Dean had tried to keep him away for his own good. He’d been saddled to a wheelchair the last year and he still hadn’t quit. He didn’t believe it was cowardice that was making him say it, Bobby was the furthest thing from a coward he knew, but then what was it?

“Why not?”

“Because we’re no match for a regular angel, let alone an archangel. The only weapon we have is holy oil, and there’s only so many molotovs we can throw and land. Let’s not forget that they can flap off at a moment’s notice. Cas only got one in on Michael because he caught him off guard. We can’t rely on it happening again.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“We trust Cas knows what he’s talking about and we leave him to it.”

“Are you forgetting, Bobby, the last time Cas went up against an archangel, he was exploded like a sack of pudding. And the time before… What was it Chuck said?” He rubbed his chin. “Oh yeah, Raphael smote the crap out of him. Cas isn’t a match for Raphael.”

“And we are?”

“We’ve done it before,” Dean said doggedly.

“Yeah, against Lucifer and look what that took to finish. Sam had to…”

“I know what Sam had to do,” Dean growled. “And you know I won’t let that happen again. But we can’t leave Cas on his own in this. He’s a child.”

“Maybe in some ways, but not when it comes to this. He knows more about angels than we could learn in a hundred lifetimes. The only thing we could hope to do to fight Raphael is give Castiel a fort made of our corpses to hide behind. Face it, Dean, he doesn’t need us.”

“Who doesn’t need us?”

Dean had been so intent on their conversation that he didn’t notice Sam’s approach. He wondered idly if Bobby had heard and decided not to tip Dean off because of some ulterior motive.

Bobby opened his mouth to answer but Dean spoke over him. “Bobby thinks we should let Cas take on Raphael alone.”

Sam forked a hand through his damp hair and nodded thoughtfully. “Bobby’s right.”

“See,” Dean started. “Sam agrees with… What?”

“Dean,” Sam said patiently. “You heard what he said. It’s too dangerous.”

He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t heard it himself. Of all of them, Sam owed Castiel more than anyone. He’d gone to Hell to get Sam out. How could Sam be saying they should abandon him now?

“If we get tangled in this, we’ll get him killed,” Sam continued. “He’ll be thinking about us and not the mission. Why do you think Dad always brought us here before taking on a big hunt? He needed us safe so he could concentrate. Cas needs the same. We can’t be a part of this.”

Dean hated it, _hated_ it, but he thought they just might be right. The last thing he wanted to do was make things harder for Castiel. He was fighting a hell of a battle already without them getting in his way. But if they weren’t fighting with him, what were they going to do? Dean looked from one to the other of them and shook his head. “So, what are we supposed to do?”

Bobby shrugged. “Do what you always do. You hunt and save other people. Let Cas do what he needs to do. If there is any way we _can_ help, he’ll let us know. Now, I’ve got to make a run in to town. We need supplies. Anything you boys want?”

“Pie,” Dean said automatically, his mind not really with Bobby or Sam; he was thinking of Castiel and how he was supposed to repay him now.

Bobby left and Sam wandered over to the porch again. He sat down on the steps and stared out at the junkers. Dean worked on the car for a few more minutes then he joined Sam on the steps. Judging by the thoughtful look on Sam’s face, his brain was kicking into gear, and that was honestly the last thing Dean wanted. There had to be real horrors in there now, and Sam didn’t need to sit there stewing over them.

Dean wasn’t good at the emotional stuff, he never had been. He thought actions spoke louder than words and tried to stick to that. But he had a feeling that actions weren’t going to cut it this time. He was going to have to talk to Sam, to explain that he was there for him if and when he wanted to talk. Sam needed to know that he understood all the things he wasn’t saying, because he had been there, too, and he knew what Hell did to a man.

Before he could think of an opener to the ‘how’s your head, Sammy?’ conversation, Sam spoke, and Dean’s focus was diverted.

“Did you even try, going to Lisa I mean?”

Dean was momentarily caught off-guard. Of all the things they had to talk about, Sam wanted to talk about _that!_

“I was going to, Dean said.

“But?”

“But I figured I should wait.”

“Wait for what?” Sam asked. “Her to find someone else and settle down?”

Dean was pissed. Sam was acting like he had failed him somehow by not going to Lisa. Sure, that had been what Sam had wanted, and Dean would have gone eventually, but not till he was ready.

“No, Sam,” Dean said through gritted teeth. “I was waiting for the day I could close my eyes and not see you disappearing into that hole. I was waiting till it was safe for me to go to them without screwing them up as much as I was. I didn’t want to ruin that poor kid’s life.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Okay, I guess I get that. But what about now?”

“What do you mean now?”

“Why don’t you go now?”

Dean gaped at him. Sam’s tone was mild, and he didn’t look like he was pissed at Dean, so what the hell was going on?

“You want me to go to Lisa now?” he asked, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation to be having with your fresh-from-hell brother.

Sam shrugged. “It’s not about what I want, Dean. It’s about you. We both know you want that life, so why not go for it?”

“How about because you _just_ got out of Hell!”

Sam smiled. “Exactly. I got out of Hell. I’m back now. Go live the life you want.” He turned to Dean and his lips turned down as he caught Dean’s fierce scowl. “Dean, for the first time ever, there is nothing for you to fight for. Azazel is dead, Lilith too, Lucifer and Michael are in the cage, we’re not needed as vessels anymore, and Cas is going to take care of Raphael. There’s no great mission for us.”

“And what about you?” Dean asked. “I’m supposed to leave you to get through this alone.”

“Get through what?” Sam asked. “I’ve told you I’m fine.”

Dean merely shook his head, marveling at his brother’s delusion. This was not over. He might be ‘fine’ now—and didn’t Dean just hate that word—but it wouldn’t last. It never did. Dean had felt fine too when he got out. There was nothing quite like the buzz of freedom gained, but it would fade and then the memories and nightmares and all the crap that came out of surviving Hell would come out. Sam was going to need him for that.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m not leaving,” he said quietly.

“But…”

“No, Sam!” Dean snapped. “It’s not happening, so drop it.”

He pushed himself to his feet and walked back into the house, leaving Sam staring after him with a furrowed brow.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter Ten_ **

 

Castiel was in pain and there was nothing Sam could do.

Castiel did not look as he usually did, in Jimmy’s body; he was the pillar of blue-white light Sam had seen once, with only the faintest outlines of features—a curve of lips and shadow of eyes. With their long, silver blades, Michael and Lucifer tore into him, slicing at the light and leaving open wounds through which blue-white smoke poured. Sam could hear his screams, and though he begged and pleaded and struggled, he was ignored. Michael drew back his sword and dealt a killing blow right to the center of Castiel’s chest, and the light dimmed. Smoke seeped from the wound. And Sam knew that Castiel was dead.

Sam’s heart felt like it was being pierced too and he screamed out in pain as he jerked awake.

His chest heaved and his heart raced. In his own bed, on the other side of the room, Dean snorted and turned over, making Sam sure he hadn’t cried out in his waking. Dean would have woken, too.

He threw back the blankets and swung his legs around so he was sat on the edge of the bed. He scrubbed a hand over his face, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had soaked his brow. Even knowing it was a dream, Sam felt sick and a little shaky—the serenity he had felt since his return was dimmed.

Dean rolled over again, and Sam knew that even in sleep Dean was sensing him in that way he seemed to have perfected when Sam was a child. He also knew that if he stayed in this room, Dean would wake, and he would have a conversation he wasn’t ready for. So far, all the affects of being out of Hell had been good ones, and that was how Sam wanted it to remain. He didn’t want his brother worrying about him.

He got quietly to his feet and padded across the room and down the hall. As he passed Bobby’s room, he heard deep, rumbling snores and he smiled slightly. It was a good sound of home.

The library was dimly lit by the faint predawn light from outside the windows. Sam crossed the room and made his way outside to the back porch. It was cold, and he shivered slightly as he sat down on the step, but he didn’t make any move to go back inside to get something warmer than his sweats to wear. The cool air felt good against his skin.

The hum in his mind was loud, and for the first time it disturbed him a little. Why was he suddenly hearing voices? It wasn’t normal, not that he had ever really fit into the category. He hugged his arms around himself.

He needed Castiel. He wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay and that the dream hadn’t been some kind of sick premonition, and to ask him what was happening. Unacknowledged even by his own mind, was the thought that he also wanted warm arms to wrap around him and speak words of comfort; he wanted to be told it was all okay.

He couldn’t call Castiel though. He was busy with other things, important war things, and the last thing he needed was Sam dragging him down to chase away a nightmare. Sam had to suck it up and wait for it to be a respectable hour, and then he could maybe start breakfast for Dean and Bobby. A real, home-cooked breakfast rather than something from a drive-thru or diner. That would be okay.

“You’re cold.”

Sam started as the deep voice came out of the shadows beside the house. Castiel walked into the light and Sam found himself smiling in spite of the fact not a minute before he’d been thinking of how Castiel had so many more important things to be doing.

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam hugged his arms around his knees and smiled. “Hey, Cas.”

“I came as soon as I could.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you would be busy.”

Castiel came to sit beside him on the step, not at the opposite side, but close enough that their shoulders were pressed together. Sam leaned against him, relishing the feeling of solidness and comfort that Castiel seemed to exude.

“I felt your disquiet,” Castiel said without inflection.

“You can still do that?” Sam asked, stunned.

Castiel nodded. “Yes, despite the distance, I felt you.”

“Why do you think it is?”

“It’s because we are bonded, Sam”

“You mean what you did with my soul and your grace.”

“When I took you into my self and gave you some of my grace, I forged a bond between us. We are connected in a way now that no two humans or angels have ever been bound before—to my knowledge at least.”

Sam’s mind was reeling. When they’d been in Hell, the fact that they were bound seemed different. Right. It didn’t feel wrong now, but it did feel different. It was a huge thing for Castiel to do. What if it hurt him?

“I think that, if you tried, you could feel me too,” Castiel continued, not noticing or not caring to draw attention to Sam’s tangled thoughts.

“I do feel different,” Sam said. “Ever since I got back. I should be freaked; I just got out of Hell, right? But I don’t. I’m pretty…” he struggled to find the words, “serene.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, you are different. That is the grace that you can feel. It is what all angels feel, though I imagine it’s to a lesser degree. I believe the true impact of Heaven’s connection would be too much for a human to experience.”

“So, this is how you feel all the time? This… peace?”

Castiel stretched his legs out straight in front of him and laid his palms on his knees. He looked deep in thought. “In a way, yes. There are many different echelons of Heaven. We are all soldiers, but our missions are different. Some, such as the cupid you encountered once, are lower levels and they are not… combat trained. They feel God’s grace more keenly than I and my fellows as we are trained to fight, Much as you and your brother are attuned to danger when hunting, I am attuned to danger at all times, though through that, I always feel God’s love and touch upon me.”

“But he left,” Sam said quietly. “Doesn’t that feel different?”

Castiel considered carefully. “Did your love for your father disappear when he expelled you from his life?”

Sam frowned. He didn’t want to think about that time. His conflicting emotions toward his father had been filed away long ago. He loved him and understood why he made the choices he did, but he accepted that John Winchester had made his fair share of mistakes; casting Sam out for the crime of wanting an education had been one of them that had cost them years together.

He understood what Castiel was saying, though. Even when he’d been mad at his father for what had happened, when he’d professed to hate him through his sadness and anger, he had still loved him, and he knew John had still loved him, even though he hated the choice Sam had made. Just as Castiel still loved God. They both had imperfect fathers.

“No,” he said. “I still loved him.”

Castiel nodded. “And I love my Father.”

Silence fell over them as the sun crested the horizon, casting brilliant light onto the cars in front of them, gleaming off of chrome and glass.

“It’s a new day,” Castiel said.

Sam felt that he was preparing himself to say goodbye again, and selfishly, he wanted to hold onto him a little longer. He didn’t want to be alone yet.

“Cas, I hear things now.”

Castiel shifted so he could see Sam’s face. Sam felt his gaze but mourned the loss of him at his side. “What do you hear?”

“Our names. And other things. It’s like a hum in my head, and when I concentrate, I hear words. “I’m…”

“You’re scared,” Castiel finished for him.

“A little. It’s kinda hard to feel anything much besides serene… but yeah, I guess I’m scared, too.”

“Would it comfort you to know what the sound is or would that trouble you further?”

“Do you know?”

“I believe I do.” Castiel leaned forward slightly. “Sam, what you are hearing is what I refer to as Angel Radio.”

Sam lurched to his feet. “I’m hearing angels!”

It was enough that he was feeling grace, but to be hearing the angels voices themselves… Of all the people on earth that could have this happen to them, Sam was the least worthy, and yet here it was. He was touched quite literally by God’s grace, and bound with the knowledge that he was the least deserving. God would be disgusted. Did he already know? He’d left Heaven but he was still _God._ He had to know this stuff.

Castiel got to his feet too and tugged on Sam’s arm. “Yes. Sam, why are you upset? If it disturbs you that much I might be able to help you block it, but it will take work and… Talk to me, please.”

“I hear angels,” Sam said. “Do they know? They must be…” He shuddered. “They must be appalled.”

Castiel frowned. “Why would you think that?”

Sam huffed a shaky laugh. “Cas, I’m the boy with the demon blood. The man that got addicted to the stuff. I am the one that started the apocalypse. You said it yourself; I am the _abomination!”_ His voice was almost a shout by the end.

“Sam,” Castiel said mournfully.

Sam spoke in a whisper. “I’m darkness, Cas, and now I’ve dragged you down with me.”

Castiel was silent for a long moment, then he shook his head and looked up. Sam saw steely determination in his eyes and he felt a little afraid of what Castiel was going to say.

“Listen to me,” he said in a low growl. “You are not darkness, Sam. You know what I felt when I touched your soul, when I took it into myself? I felt pure. For the first time since I laid a hand on your brother in Hell and raised him to freedom, I felt good. I was doing the right thing. And my reward was to touch this thing of beauty and light and goodness. I thought I knew who you were before, Sam, but I was wrong. I had no idea. Now I feel what kind of man you are, and it is a good one. There is nothing dark within you in the way you believe. You are light.”

Sam stared into his eyes, the eyes that were his comfort and light before, and he saw no lie there. Castiel truly believed that he was good. If an angel believed that, could Sam believe it of himself? Could he wash away almost three decades of knowing he was dark and wrong on the say-so of one person?

Sam didn’t know, but for the first time in a long time, he hoped.

xXx

Castiel stayed for a while, keeping company with Sam as he prepared breakfast, and only leaving when he was summoned back home. Sam heard the summons, Castiel’s name called, and knowing what he knew now about the origin of the voices, he marveled at it. They were _angels’_ voices, and he, Sam Winchester, was hearing them. And Castiel said that was okay. He said Sam was a good man. And Sam almost believed it.

When Castiel was gone, and the breakfast was prepared, Sam clanged on a saucepan with a spoon. He heard groans and curses from the stairs and then Dean appeared, running a hand through his sleep tousled hair and looking around with bleary eyes. He had seen Dean jerk awake after days of no sleep and have the gun in his hands before his eyes were even open, ready and prepared to deal with whatever danger had come their way, but drawn out of bed by breakfast without something to fight, he turned into a teenager again. It was uncanny.

“What’s the noise?” Dean asked, collapsing into a chair at the small table.

“Breakfast,” Sam said brightly, setting a bowl of eggs down in the middle of the table and a plate of bacon.

Dean looked up at him, and though he was still rubbing a hand over his face, the picture of exhaustion, his eyes were sharp and assessing Sam. “Didn’t you sleep?”

“I slept. I just woke early.”

Dean didn’t look convinced, but thankfully Bobby chose that moment to come into the kitchen—dressed for the day, trucker cap in place—and sit down, and Dean didn’t looked like he wanted to question Sam in front of the older hunter. Sam was glad. He didn’t want to tell Dean about the nightmare. The fact Castiel had been there too seemed like it should be kept quiet also. Dean might ask what he was doing there and Sam could hardly tell him the truth. _‘Well, Dean, I have grace in me and Cas has a bit of my soul. We were talking about the fact I can now hear angel radio. It’s all good though, so don’t lose it.’_ Dean would lose it, and everyone in a one-mile radius would feel the shockwave. With demon blood as a comparison, it wasn’t likely he was going to be behind angel grace.

This wasn’t like the demon blood though. It felt different. The demon blood had made his heart race and his hands tremor. It had been like fire rushing through his veins, making him powerful and strong. It had been darkness. This was light. It came from something pure instead of something twisted and corrupt. It was Cas.

He felt Bobby’s gaze on him as he sat down at the table and pulled the eggs over to himself. “You okay, Bobby?” he asked casually.

“I’m fine,” Bobby said slowly. “Just wondering what’s got you smiling like that.”

Sam schooled his features into those of polite interest. “It’s just a nice day.” He wasn’t lying. The sun was beating down already, despite the early hour, and the sky was blue. It was a good day to be alive. It was a day he never thought he’d see again.

Dean glared at him across the table, and Sam’s brow furrowed. He didn’t know what Dean’s problem was. It was like he wanted Sam to be freaking out. Surely this was a good thing; he’d come out of the cage and he wasn’t a traumatized mess. Sam had never thought he’d get out, his fall was supposed to be the end of it all, but if he had imagined it, he would have expected the mess. He wasn’t though. He felt good. For once, Winchester luck had been working in his favor. If Dean didn’t stop with the glaring soon though, they were going to have to talk.

When the plates were empty, Sam sat back in his seat and asked, “So, I get Cas was dealing with the Raphael problem, but what else did I miss?”

“Nothing much,” Bobby said, pushing his chair back from the table and massaging his stomach. “I took out a rugaru a few months back, and me and Rufus teamed up for a vamp nest, but other than that things have been quiet. Weirdly quiet, actually. Then after Cas disappeared, things were pretty much all focused on finding your brother.”

Sam frowned and turned to Dean who was glaring daggers at Bobby. Bobby merely shrugged.

“Where were you, Dean?” he asked.

Dean looked defiantly at Sam. “I took some time off.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. He had known that Dean hadn’t gone to Lisa, but he’d assumed he’d stuck with Bobby at least. “Time off?”

“Yes,” Dean said sharply. “I did what I haven’t done _ever._ I took time to do what I wanted for a while.”

“And ignored my phone calls,” Bobby said quietly.

Sam’s gaze snapped from Dean to Bobby and back again. “You…”

Dean slapped his hand down on the table. “What I wanted, Sam! Not you, not Bobby, but me. Now, let’s leave it at that. Thank you.” He pushed his chair back with a loud scraping sound and got to his feet. “I’m going to shower,” he said curtly and marched from the room.

Sam waited until he heard the shower turn on before he spoke. “What did he do, Bobby?”

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. “I don’t honestly know. Like I say, he didn’t answer my calls. I know that angels tracked him down to a town in Kansas, but I’ve no idea what he was doing there.”

Sam sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Sam,” Bobby said. “He’s been through a lot.”

“I know,” Sam said defensively. He knew exactly how much Dean had been through as he’d been the one to do it to him. He’d been the one Dean had made the deal for. He’d not been able to save Dean from Hell. He’d got himself addicted to demon blood. He’d freed Lucifer. He’d almost ended the damn world.

“I don’t think you do,” Bobby said thoughtfully. Sam opened his mouth to argue, but Bobby held up a hand. “I know you and I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not talking about the bad stuff. I mean he went through a lot letting you go. After you took that dive… Well, I never saw him like that, not even when your daddy died. God knows you’ve been through Hell, but so has your brother. He needed time for himself.”

Sam nodded but his mind was charging ahead of what Bobby had said. He’d been so absorbed with what had happened to him and how he was feeling that he’d forgotten what Dean had been through. He hadn’t considered that, though he was back and happy, Dean might need time to adjust to that too.

xXx

Sam was determined to make things easier for Dean, to give him the time to adjust and wrap his head around what had happened, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what Dean wanted. When Dean had got out of Hell, Sam had wanted Dean to talk about it with him. He’d wanted to understand what he’d been through. He could tell Dean about Hell, but that wouldn’t help either of them. It would drag it all up for Sam again and it would force Dean into a dreaded chick-flick moment.

Unable to think of anything else to do, he made sure he was there for Dean and threw himself into whatever it was Dean wanted to do, whether it be beers at Wiley’s Tavern or action movies watched on Bobby’s old TV and even older couch. It wasn’t purely altruistic, Sam enjoyed those things too, and they hadn’t really done them together in a long time. It felt good.

When Dean mentioned one morning that it was probably time for them to get back to hunting—if Sam was ready—Sam jumped at the chance. He immediately got his laptop out and began searching his regular pages for any news that might speak of the supernatural.

He didn’t find anything though, not even demon activity, and short of searching down a crossroads demon to kill for kicks, there wasn’t anything they could do. They were all, Bobby included, feeling restless and in need of a hunt, and it was with a triumphant smile that Sam finally came across a article on the _Weekly World News_ that spoke of a series of deaths in Iowa. The headline was _Accident or Murder!_

Sam read the article quickly then sent it across to Bobby’s printer. Pulling it out of the rack with a beaming smile in place, he went outside to find Dean and Bobby working on a car in the service bay for a local man Bobby called Old-Man-Can-Kiss-My-Ass. He was evidently a local character and Bobby wasn’t a fan.

“What you got there, Sam?” Dean asked snatching at the paper Sam was waving under his eyes.

“A hunt,” Sam said happily.

Bobby looked up from the engine. “Really? Where?” He reached for the paper but Dean pulled it out of his reach.

“Hands off! This is ours.”

“You think I’m letting you have all the fun. Besides, you’ve been out of it a while. You need my help.”

Sam smiled. “There’s probably plenty hunt to go around. I’m not sure what the deal is other than the fact some bodies are turning up in this town with dual causes of death.”

“How’s that?” Bobby asked.

Sam shrugged. “Don’t know really. You know what the _WWN_ is like. It’s like the murder or suicide article puzzle except with multiple victims and it’s accident versus murder.”

Dean read down the page. “It’s very vague, Sam. You sure it’s our kind of thing?”

“Hope so. It’s worth a drive to Iowa to check it out though.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully and Bobby made another grab for the printout.

“If you boys aren’t interested…”

“Forget it,” Dean said, making for the house. “You can come along but you’re not stealing this one. Besides, you’ve got a car to service.”

“The hell with that,” Bobby said. “Old man can—“

“Kiss your ass?” Sam said with a smile.

“Damn right.”

xXx

They made it to Iowa in the late afternoon, and none of them were in the mood to deal with what could be another pissy sheriff annoyed that the feds were trying to snake in on their case, so they stowed it till morning and went out to eat at a local restaurant instead.

When they were done, Dean was keen to make a night of it at a bar, and Bobby was happy to go along, but Sam declined. He was hoping to see Castiel again, so he made his excuses and went back to the motel, Dean’s complaints that he was a lightweight following him.

There was no guarantee Castiel would come. He’d only visited twice since the night he’d come to Sam after his nightmare, and always in the dead of night when Sam woke upset, but Sam figured there was a chance, and he was happy with that.

Letting himself into the motel room, he shrugged off his coat and flicked on the TV for company. He sat on his bed and pulled the laptop over to him, thinking of searching down more details from the PD archives of what was happening.

“Cas,” he said quietly. “We’re in room one-twelve of the Lakeside Suites in Storm Lake, Iowa. There’s nothing to worry about, but I thought if you wanted to—“

“I am here, Sam.”

Sam looked at the angel and pushed away his laptop and got to his feet. Castiel looked wrecked. His face was drawn in lines of sadness and his usually bright eyes were dull. “Cas, what happened?” he asked, laying a hand on Castiel’s arm.

“I lost someone,” Castiel said with unveiled grief in his tone.

Castiel had said Sam would be able to feel him too, and now he understood what he meant. Castiel’s sadness infected the whole room, at least that was how it felt to Sam. He had his own concern for Castiel and sadness for the unknown person, but he also felt a sickening twisting in his guts as if he had just been told he’d lost someone he loved. He had to remind himself that they were okay, that he’d just seen them not five minutes ago, to stop himself sprinting to the bar to see Dean and Bobby.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited to see if Castiel would sit too. He wanted to do something to comfort him, to hold him the way Castiel had done before, but something held him back. Some sense that this wasn’t the time to indulge what he wanted.

Castiel came and sat opposite him on Dean’s bed. “His name was Balthazar. He was one of my more… carefree brothers. I don’t understand how it happened. He never openly pledged allegiance to me or Raphael. Some of them haven’t, though more and more join us every day. I thought he was safe. I would have persuaded him to stay among us if I realized. But today, when I sought him out, he was gone. There were signs of a struggle.” There was something in Castiel’s tone that made Sam think he wasn’t really talking to him, he was telling the story to himself to make it seem more real. “I have searched for him, but he is gone. Another lost because of me.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Cas,” Sam said, unable to resist the urge to reach out and lay a hand on Castiel’s knee. “You didn’t do it.”

Castiel raised his head and looked Sam in the eye. “You don’t understand. I have cost so many of my family their lives, and I tell myself the ends justify the means, but I worry now what God will think of me because of what has become of his children in my command.”

“You’re fighting a war. There are always losses. It’s awful, but that’s what happens, and I'm sure all the angels on both sides know that.”

“And what of those that lost their liberty?”

Sam frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Castiel bowed his head and spoke to the mottled carpet, as if he didn’t want to see Sam’s reaction. “When we were saved, it took an incursion of many angels. Some did not return with us.”

Sam’s felt sickened. “You mean they’re still there, trapped with… them?”

“Yes,” Castiel said heavily.

“Oh, God,” Sam breathed. “What do we do? What _can_ we do?”

“Nothing. They are trapped.” He looked up at Sam and there was something indefinable in his expression. “I would like to blame Rachel for this, she could have led without me, and yet I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because her choice saved you too, Sam. From the moment I reached the heart of that place and saw you, my only wish was to be able to bring you out again. I couldn’t bear that you were trapped. She granted my wish but it came at a terrible cost. For that, I only blame myself.”

Sam couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t see Castiel looking so awful and not comfort him. He moved to sit beside him and laid a hand over Castiel’s on his lap. “I’m so sorry, Cas.”

Castiel nodded. “So am I.”


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter Eleven_ **

 

Sam’s mood was dour the next morning, even with the grace buzzing in his chest. Dean picked up on it and asked what was wrong, but Sam merely told him he’d had a rough night. It wasn’t a lie. The thought of the angels in the cage lurked in his dreams, reminders of what had been. He saw them tortured and every one of them bore Castiel’s face.

He didn’t know why he didn’t just tell Dean the truth, but something held him back. Dean internalized a lot of guilt, he always had, and he would probably twist what had happened so the blame would somehow lie on his shoulders.

They had split up for the morning, Bobby going to the local PD office to introduce himself and to get a copy of the case files, and Sam and Dean going to the coroner to see if they could get some more information on the bodies. They were going to have to bluster some of it as, after Castiel’s visit and revelation, Sam hadn’t been inclined to search anything else up on the net. He’d just sat in front of the TV, not watching the movie playing, but thinking of tortured angels until Dean had got back.

The coroner’s was attached to the hospital, and Sam and Dean drove across town, leaving Bobby to make his way to the PD in his Chevelle. Dean left the stereo silent as they drove, which was unusual, but Sam felt no need to fill the silence with conversation.

As they climbed out of the car in the parking lot, Dean looked over the roof at Sam and said, “You up for this? ‘Cause I can go in alone.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, but you’ve had a face on you all morning, and I thought maybe you could use a break.”

Despite the unusually solicitous nature of Dean’s inquiry, Sam didn’t want a break. He wanted to get on with it, anything to distract him from the echoes of angels’ screams in his mind. “I’m good.”

“Sure you are,” Dean muttered.

There were helpful markers pointing them to the morgue from the main entrance, and Dean took the lead as they passed through the halls.

The coroner was unexpected. Rather than the middle-aged men they were used to dealing with, it was a young woman with auburn hair and deep brown eyes. She was beautiful but she held no attraction to Sam. It was a different matter for Dean, who smiled his best smile and held out a hand for her to shake.

“Agent Phillips,” he said. “And this is Agent Sucherman.”

She smiled and shook their hands. “I’m guessing you’re here about our mystery deaths.”

Dean nodded. “That’s why we were sent.”

She unlatched a steel door and pulled out a long tray holding a sheet covered corpse. “Well, this is our latest,” she said, pulling back the sheet to expose a man’s face. “Frank Snyder. Age thirty. Found yesterday on the shores of the lake.”

“Cause of death?” Sam asked.

“That’s where things get weird,” she said pulling the sheet a little lower.

Sam saw what she meant at once. Among the black stitches of the closed autopsy incision, there was a puckered wound on the center of the man’s chest, directly above his heart.

“Stab wound,” she said. “Went all the way into his heart.”

“So he was murdered,” Dean mused.

She shook her head. “Maybe not. The stab wound was bad enough to cause almost instantaneous death, but there’s this…” She lifted his hand out from under the sheet and they saw that the man’s fingernails were imbedded with dirt.

“You think he was an avid gardener?” Dean quipped.

She shook her head. “It’s silt, the kind you get on the bottom of the lake. To get that, he was scrabbling around on the lakebed for a while. Much longer than should be possible given the stabbing. And his lungs and stomach were full of lake water.”

“Maybe he drowned and then was stabbed,” Sam said.

“Maybe,” she conceded. “All the victims, there have been eleven so far, have had the same signs that they drowned _and_ were stabbed. I can’t explain it, but I can tell you this, I’ve seen a wound like this before. I was in my first year interning here, and there was a floater brought in. He had been stabbed, one wound to the heart, and dumped in the lake.”

Sam’s attention piqued and thoughts of Castiel and trapped angels were driven from his mind. He caught Dean’s eye and received a covert nod in return. This definitely sounded like their kind of case.

“And what was the cause of death then?” Dean asked.

“The stab wound,” she said. “Without a doubt.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully. “Okay. Well, thanks for your help.” He took a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “If anything else comes up, give me a call.”

She took it and gave him a sultry smile. “I’ll do that."

As they made their way back to the car, Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder. “What do you think, Sammy, she worth staying in town a little while?”

Sam shrugged. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Dean tugged on his arm and pulled him to a stop.

“What’s with you?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine.”

Dean groaned. “Where’s the whole _‘you’re not really a federal agent’_ and _‘this won’t end well, Dean’_ crap you usually give me.”

“It’s your choice, Dean. Do what you want to do.” He made to walk away, but Dean held onto his arm, making him stop. “Is this about Hell? Is that why you’re not talking, because you can, you know? I’ll listen.”

Sam shook his head. “It’s not about Hell, not really, it’s just… I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Then tell me about it. Let me help.” He sighed. “You’ve been like a Stepford Wife since you got back, breakfasts and a smile all the time, and now you’re… I want to know what’s going on.”

Sam looked up and down the hall at the people that were milling around, some giving them curious looks. It wasn’t a good place to talk, even if Sam wanted to.

Dean released his arm and Sam dropped it to his side. “We’ll talk later. Okay?”

“Sure,” Dean said bitterly. “Whatever you want.”

Sam knew he was worrying Dean and annoying him too, but he didn’t want to talk about the angels or what Castiel had done or anything else. For the first time since he had been saved, he was thinking of what it had cost them. It seemed wrong that angels were paying for their freedom, but like Castiel, he couldn’t regret it. Cas had been saved too, and that had been Sam’s wish.

He could probably try to explain all that to Dean, and Dean would try to understand, but though he’d been to Hell, he hadn’t been _there_ with Sam the way Castiel had. What he really wanted was to talk to Castiel, and he couldn’t because his friend was currently fighting a war, and the last thing he needed was to listen to Sam’s whining. No, this was something he was going to have to suck up and deal with on his own.

He took a deep breath and searched for the serenity he had felt before, what Castiel had said was the grace of God, but though it was there, it didn’t soothe him the way it had before.

xXx

Bobby’s Chevelle was parked out front of his room when they got back, and Dean stomped across the lot and banged on his room door. When Bobby opened it, he pushed past and dropped down hard onto the bed. Bobby’s eyes searched Sam’s face, possibly hoping for an explanation of his brother’s mood, but all Sam could manage in response was a grim smile.

“How’d it go with the cops?” Dean asked.

Bobby picked up a manila folder from the table and handed it to Dean. “They’re calling it a series of drownings. There was another woman there at the same time, demanding answers, the girlfriend of yesterday’s victim. The cops fobbed her off as neatly as they did me, but I got one thing she didn’t. Turns out there was a man killed about ten years back, stabbed and weighted in the lake.”

“Yeah, the coroner mentioned it,” Sam said.

“Did she also mention the fact they never charged anyone for it?” Bobby asked. “You got a violent death and no justice for his killer. Sounds to me like all the ingredients of a vengeful spirit.”

Dean tossed Sam the file and he opened it to see an autopsy photograph of a young man with heavy eyebrows and a strong jaw. The shot showed the face and upper chest and Sam saw a puckered hole over the heart, just like Frank Snyder had been sporting.

“Local man?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, buried in the Eternal Rest cemetery on the other side of town.”

Dean cracked his knuckles. “Awesome. We wait till dark and then salt and burn him. Shame really. I was hoping for a little bit of a challenge.”

“Yeah, well it can’t always be the apocalypse,” Bobby said dourly. “What do you boys want to do while we wait? You hungry?”

Dean started to answer but Sam spoke over him. “I think we should go to the lake.”

Bobby frowned. “You don’t think it’s a vengeful spirit?”

“No, I’m almost sure it is, but I was thinking we should probably go there and keep an eye out for more victims. It’s late enough in the year that the lifeguards won’t be on duty, but not so late people might not want to try swimming.” He shrugged. “We’ve got those environmental department badges still. We can say there’s dysentery or pollution or something in the water. Safe and easy way to keep people out of the way.”

“Good idea,” Bobby said approvingly. “You boys go deal with that, and I’ll meet you there.”

“You got a date?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bobby rolled his eyes. “I’m going to scout out the cemetery. You may not have noticed it, but it’s easier to find the right grave when it’s light out.” Dean and Sam exchanged a look and Bobby huffed a laugh. “I sometimes wonder how you boys haven’t died _more._ ”

xXx

After changing out of their fed suits and into jeans and shirts, they set out for the lake. Dean didn’t try to make Sam talk; he communicated through pointed silences and especially hard drumming of the steering wheel without musical accompaniment. Sam knew he was going to have to come up with some excuse for his behavior, but he had no ideas. Dean deserved the truth, but that was exactly what Sam was scared to give him.

“You getting out or you think you can protect the masses from here?” Dean asked, leaning in through the open door.

Sam hadn’t even realized they’d stopped. He got out of the car and closed the door behind them. There weren’t masses to send away. The parking lot had one other car in it, a new looking Buick, and the only person in sight was a woman standing out on the dock, staring out at the lake.

She didn’t turn as they made their way toward her, despite the thudding of their footsteps against the rough wooden planks.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Dean started. “But we need to ask you to—“

As she turned, he trailed off. She was a wreck. She’d obviously been crying—mascara had run in rivulets down her face. Her skin was pale and drawn and her hair tangled.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked automatically, forgetting the fact he was supposed to be playing the part of the professional.

“He’s dead,” she said tonelessly.

Dean looked at Sam and Sam shook his head slightly. He didn’t know what she was talking about either.

“I’m sorry but who’s dead?” Dean asked.

Sam felt a chill of horror. “Did you see someone go into the water?”

She shook her head and wiped at her face, smearing the black lines over her cheeks. “Frank. He’s dead.”

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out his Fed badge, glad that he had transferred it into his jeans. He knew who this woman was now and he understood why she had been drawn here.

“I’m Agent Sucherman,” he said. “We’re here investigating the recent deaths.”

She looked only mildly interested. “You’re investigating the drownings?”

The poor woman didn’t have a clue. She hadn’t even been told the details of her boyfriend’s death. No wonder she’d been at the PD office looking for answers.

“Yes,” Dean said. “We believe there might be more to it than accidents.”

For the first time her expression showed something other than misery. She looked wired and her eyes widened. “You’re right! Frank was a varsity swim league champ. There’s no way he’d have got caught out of his depth in this lake. He swims it every day. He knows it better than our own apartment.”

“Frank was your… boyfriend?” Dean asked.

“Yes. _Just_ my boyfriend according to the cops. They won’t even release his body to me. I’ve got to wait for his parents to get here and they’re in Florida. They never liked me. I won’t even have a say in any of it, in putting him to rest. I know what he’d want. He loved the lake. He’d want his ashes to be on the water.”

Or not, Sam thought, seeing as that was where he’d been killed.  

She pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. It’s not like you can help. What are you doing here anyway?”

“We came to… assess the area,” Dean said vaguely. “And we’ve been authorized to place a—“

Whatever great explanation Dean was about to pull out of his butt, Sam didn’t know, because at that moment all hell broke loose.

If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it. She stumbled forward and almost fell, and as Sam reached for her, he saw a pale, grey hand wrapped around her ankle. He tried to grab her, but it was too late. The hand tugged and she was dragged back into the water. Dean dropped to his knees on the dock, trying to catch her flailing hands, but she was being pulled away from them. Screaming and struggling, she was towed out to the middle of the lake.

Sam reacted without thinking. He dove into the water and ploughed towards her with fast strokes. He heard a splash that meant Dean had followed him. The woman was struggling to stay afloat, sinking and emerging with loud coughs, but something was dragging her. When Sam was ten feet from her, she disappeared under the surface and didn’t reappear.

“He’s got her, Dean!” Sam shouted, even as he dragged himself up, out of the water only to dive down beneath the surface. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness of the water, and he forced himself downward. Her pale face was visible below him, and he reached for her, only to see her pulled away again. He had wasted his air calling to Dean, so he pushed to the surface for a moment and drew a deep, chest-aching lungful before diving down again. Dean had reached him now and he was ahead of Sam, pulling himself to the bottom of the lake with smooth strokes.

Sam followed him down, and he could see the woman’s—he hadn’t even caught her name—face again. Her mouth was tightly closed and her eyes panicked. Sam knew she was down to the last second’s restraint before reflex forced her to draw a breath of water. The ghost was nowhere to be seen.

Dean caught her around the chest, and pushed up from the bottom of the lake, casting Sam a backward glance even as he kicked for the surface. Sam gave him a thumbs up and turned himself in the water, so he could kick upwards too. His feet found the soft silt of the lakebed and he bent his knees but he got no traction. Something was holding him. He looked up at Dean who was almost out of sight and a large bubble of air left him as he shouted uselessly after his brother. He looked down and saw a pale grey hand wrapped around his ankle, holding him down.

The post-mortem photo hadn’t done the man any justice as an opponent. Dead, he had looked pathetic and sad, but now he was very much alive and angry. His lips curved back over his teeth as his grip moved from Sam’s ankle to his knee and up his leg.

Sam’s lungs were starving for oxygen, and he pressed his lips together tightly. He could hold out, he just had to get away. He kicked at the ghost, but he moved through him as if he was made of smoke. His strength was all supernatural and there was nothing for Sam to fight with down there in the water.

The ghost gripped Sam’s shoulder with one hand and in the other he presented a short bladed knife that looked like it could have come from any kitchen in America. Sam pushed away, but again his hands moved through the man like smoke.

His lungs were screaming, and he knew he was seconds away from drawing the breath that would possibly end him, but the ghost wasn’t going to allow him that peaceful end. He lifted the knife with a smile and Sam was reminded irresistibly of Lucifer and the razor and the cage. His mind forced aside the image. He was going to die, he knew it, but he didn’t want to die with that image as the last thing his mind gave him. He looked up at the sun lighting the surface of the water, and tried to focus on that as the knife pressed against his chest and punctured the skin. The water around Sam’s head became darker and he knew it was his own blood that was making it murky.

He couldn’t help it, he looked down, and he saw the ghost’s lethal smile as it forced the blade into Sam’s chest at the same moment as he lost the fight against his reflex to breath. He sucked in water and blood even as his heart was punctured.

Darkness didn’t press in at Sam, it swept over him, casting him into oblivion even as his heart gave one last futile, fractured beat.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter Twelve_ **

 

No matter how hard Dean kicked at the water, he didn’t seem to be getting any closer to the surface. It was as if the lake was determined to have him as a victim, too. The thought made him mad and he pushed himself harder until his muscles were burning and his lungs were screaming for oxygen.

Finally, he broke the surface and was able to draw deep breaths of fresh air. His lungs expanded gratefully and his head cleared from the fog that had been seeping in. He kicked for the shore, dragging the woman behind him. She was a dead weight that slowed him more than he thought possible, but eventually the water became shallow and he was wading more than swimming. He heaved the woman in to his arms and carried her to the shore where the water was just licking up against the bank. He laid her down heavily—he was exhausted—and dropped to his knees beside her.

Her eyes were cracked open and all he could see was a strip of white. Knowing it was pointless, she’d been in the water too long, he bowed his face over her mouth and felt for breaths against his cheek. There were none, and there was no pulse at her throat.

He cursed and tilted her head back, and bloody foam seeped from her mouth. For a second, he thought it was her breathing, and his heart leapt, but her chest didn’t move and the foam just trickled down her cheek.

He wiped it away and bowed over her, blowing two deep breaths into her lungs. He rose and placed his hands over her chest, and that was when he noticed the blood. Her white shirt was tinted pink and there was a deeper red stain over her heart. He knew what he was seeing, and his mind knew it was too late for her, but he couldn’t not try. It might not be that deep. It could have missed the heart. She still might have a chance.

He clasped his hands over her sternum and began to press down. Blood crept from the wound, making his hands slippery, and his stomach rebelled, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He had to try.

He alternated breaths and compressions and in his mind there was a constant litany of ‘ _Wake up. Just wake up. I can help you. It’s not too late.’_

He saw a pair of knees drop down beside him and he knew it was Sam, but he didn’t look up to see him. All his focus was on the woman on the ground who _still wasn’t breathing._

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he knew what his brother was saying, but he couldn’t stop. Then a voice spoke and he knew he was defeated. It wasn’t Sam, it was Bobby, and his tone was weighted with sadness.

“It’s too late, son.”

“No,” Dean growled, bending again to give her a lungful of clean, lifesaving air.

Bobby gripped his shoulders and forced him upright. “She’s gone.”

Dean knew it was the truth. The drowning, the stabbing, it didn’t matter what. The reality was that she was dead and he was too late. He had failed her.

He sat back on his haunches and stared up at the sky, a primal roar of rage building in his chest. “Dammit!” he shouted.

Bobby asked something, but Dean didn’t hear him. He was too consumed with his defeat. Then something hard collided with his shoulder and he looked down. Bobby had punched him.

“Dean!” he said sharply. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s…” Dean looked around, sure he would see his brother standing close by, and he was ready to rage at him for not helping to at least try to save the woman, but Sam was nowhere in sight.

“Where is he?” Bobby’s voice was a dangerous growl now but Dean barely heard it. He was on his feet, his eyes whipping around, searching for a sign of Sam, a flash of color, a shaggy head, a too tall form on the other side of the lake. There was nothing.

“Sam!” he bellowed, and listened carefully for a voice to come in return with his head tilted to the side. The only sounds were the blood rushing in his ears and the thumping of his heart.

“Dean!” Bobby’s voice was quavering and he was already in motion, racing through the water, sending waves up around his knees. “Sam!”

Dean saw what he saw, and his heart failed for a moment. In the middle of the lake was a snatch of dark blue, the exact color of Sam’s jacket. It was bobbing in the water as if the wearer was relaxing and allowing the water to move him… or was unconscious.

“Sammy!” Dean bellowed, but there was no answering movement in the lake.

He forced his way through the water, only half-aware that Bobby was ahead of him and was swimming out now. Once the water was deep enough, he dived and began to kick furiously, powering his way to the middle of the lake.

Bobby reached Sam first, as Dean knew he would, but he was only a matter of seconds behind.

“Is he okay?” he asked, blinking the water out of his eyes and dreading the answer. He reached for Sam’s arm, but something was wrong. There was not enough weight. He was holding empty fabric. There was no arm beneath.

Bobby didn’t answer; he just took a deep breath and dived beneath the surface. Dean mimicked him, his heart in his throat and his veins frozen with fear.

Bobby may have been first down, but Dean was younger and stronger. He forced his arms through the water, pushing himself, all the while his eyes raked the water, searching for a sign of his brother.

_Why hadn’t he realized?_

The water was murky and it was hard to see anything.

_Why hadn’t he noticed?_

He reached the bottom and saw something that made his heart leap.

_He should have known!_

It was just an old barrel.

_Sam, where are you?_

He grappled his way along the bottom of the lake, his hands sinking into the mud to give him traction. His vision started to blur and he knew he was down too long. He needed air. Only the knowledge that he would be no good to his brother if he was unconscious too—because Sam had to be unconscious, he couldn’t be dead—enabled him to push up from the lakebed and kick to the surface. He drew deep breaths as his head broke the surface and then dived again.

He lost count of how many times he made the return to the surface for air and back to the bottom of the lake. He once saw Bobby, and thinking it was Sam dragged him up to the surface only to be disappointed. Again and again he dove down, searching for anything, any sign of his brother. He was exhausted and his muscles ached for rest, but he denied them. He could rest later. He and Sam could both rest back at the motel. They could order pizza and drink beer and laugh about how scared Dean had been when he realized Sam was missing. But they had to find Sam first.

The last time his head broke the surface, Bobby gripped his shoulders before he could dive again.

“Dean,” he panted. “It’s too—“

“It is _not_ too late,” Dean said. He had meant to sound menacing, to scare Bobby in return, but his voice came out breathy and weak.

Water ran in rivulets down Bobby’s face from his hair. There could have been tears too, Dean didn’t know, but nor did he care. This was not a time for tears, not yet. “It’s been too long,” Bobby said. “Even if we find him...”

Dean didn’t know how long had passed and he didn’t care. All that mattered was that they found Sam.

He tried to dive again, but his body failed him. He was just too exhausted. He bobbed on the surface, with his face down in the water, still searching, and tried to summon the strength to dive again.

Something gripped the back of his jacket and tugged at him, and he didn’t have the strength to resist.

When his feet began to scrape across the bottom of the lake, he rose to a stand and plodded toward the shore. He felt like he’d left his heart in the middle of the lake. There was no emotion in him now. No fear or anger or sadness. He was numb and defeated.

They were standing in the shallows, with the water lapping around their ankles, and Bobby was talking, gripping his shoulders and saying words that held no meaning to Dean anymore. All that mattered was the loss.

Sam was gone.

Suddenly, Bobby’s face changed from crippling sadness to exultation and one word slipped from his lips. “Sam.” His eyes were fixed on a stop the other side of the shore and there was some indefinable emotion in them. It looked a lot like hope.

Dean followed his gaze and everything came rushing back at him at once. It was as if the volume was suddenly cranked up to max and he _felt_ again.

Sam was there, standing in water up to his knees and bowed over with his hands on his legs. He was looking down and Dean could see even from the distance that Sam’s chest was heaving with breath— _breath!—_ as his lungs worked like bellows.

“Sammy!”

Sam turned towards him and Dean could see his smile. Exhaustion and defeat a distant memory, Dean sprinted towards his brother, Bobby hot on his heels. Tears mixed with the water streaming down his face and his lips curved into an elated, slightly demented smile.

Then he reached Sam, and he was pulling him into his arms and feeling Sam’s chest heave against his. Sam’s shuddering arms came up to hold Dean in return, and then Bobby was there and his arms were gripping Sam, and then Sam coughed and they both leapt away from him, wanting to give him air.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked and it sounded like a curse with his voice trembling.

Sam nodded. “I’m fine.”

“I can’t believe we…” Bobby trailed off, and Dean was glad. He didn’t want Sam to know they’d given up on him. Sam had beaten the devil and survived Hell. Something as stupid as a lake wasn’t going to be the thing that took him out.

Sam leaned back and rubbed at his chest. Dean’s eyes followed the movement, and his stomach lurched. Sam was bleeding. Really bleeding. The white t-shirt under his shirt was stained pink, and there was a neat hole in the fabric, as if someone had cut into it with a pair of scissors.

“Jesus, Sammy,” he said, yanking up the shirt and searching for the source of the bleeding. “You’re really hurt.”

Bobby gripped Sam’s arm, as if preparing to catch Sam when he fell, as he surely would.

“I’m fine,” Sam said again, pulling up his t-shirt and exposing his stomach and chest. “I’m not hurt.”

Dean’s eyes raked his brother for a sign of injury, but there was nothing. His skin was clear and unblemished. There was no reason for the sheer amount of blood staining his shirt or the hole.

“What happened?” Bobby asked in a breathy voice.

Sam didn’t answer. He just pulled off his soaked shirts and balled them up.

“Sam,” Dean said in a low voice.

Again, Sam stayed silent, he held the shirts against his stomach and hugged his arms around himself. He was shivering, and Dean realized he and Bobby were, too. The air was cool now as the sun started its descent to the horizon, and they’d all been in the water too long.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Bobby said. “If someone sees us here with the body…”

Dean nodded and gripped Sam’s arm. Between them, he and Bobby towed him to the car, though Sam didn’t seem to need the support. He was shaking from the cold but his legs were steady. Dean's emotions were going haywire and his thoughts were racing.

When they got back to the car, he yanked open Sam’s door and watched him carefully as he folded himself into the seat.

“Meet you back at the motel,” Bobby said.

Dean nodded and climbed in behind the wheel. Glancing at Sam, assuring himself that he was there, he started the engine and backed out of the parking space.

xXx

Sam had died. He knew it, he remembered it, so how was he alive?

He felt Dean’s eyes on him throughout the short drive back to the motel, and he knew Dean’s relief was quickly being eclipsed by frustration and anger as he stayed silent. Dean needed him to talk, to explain what had happened, but he had no idea what to say. He didn’t understand how he was alive. Unless it was…

He needed to talk to Castiel. He would have the answers.

When they got back to the motel, Dean unlocked the door and gestured Sam in ahead of him. He knew Dean was about to launch into a tirade and demand answers, and Sam had nothing to say, so he grabbed some clean clothes out of his duffel and made for the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked angrily.

“You want first shower?” Sam asked innocently.

“No, I want answers.”

Sam shook his head and hugged his arms around himself. He was cold, chilled to the bone. But more than that, he needed a little space.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Dean.” That wasn’t a lie. Sam didn’t have the first idea of what to tell his brother.

He made for the shower again but Dean grabbed his arm and held him back. “What happened, Sam?”

Sam pulled his arm out of Dean’s grip and made for the bathroom.

“You know something,” Dean growled.

Sam turned, holding the bathroom door, ready to slam it closed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“What happened to you?”

“I don’t know. But I’m fine.”

He should have been expecting it, he saw the look in Dean’s eyes, but when Dean stepped forward and swung a fist through the air, colliding with his jaw, he was taken off-guard. He stumbled back, cupping his aching jaw. He wanted to make a sarcastic comment, to ask Dean if he felt better for it, but he knew he deserved what he got. He’d scared Dean, he scared himself, and he wasn’t able to give the answers Dean needed.

He shook his head once and closed the bathroom door in Dean’s face.

Alone and able to react, he leaned back against the door and bowed his head for a moment, summoning strength. He was exhausted and overwhelmed, and all he wanted was to talk to Castiel, but he couldn’t yet. He was chilled to the bone and he knew he had to take care of that before he made himself sick, if he even could get sick anymore. If it was able to save him from a stab wound to the heart and drowning, what was a simple case of pneumonia?

He set the water running and stood under the hot stream of water. “Cas,” he whispered, “I really need to talk to you…”

xXx

When he got out of the shower, Bobby and Dean were both sitting at the table, wearing clean, dry clothes. They both stared at him as he tossed his ruined shirt into the wastepaper bin and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on clean socks.

“Talk,” Dean said quietly.

Sam looked up and schooled his features into a look of innocence. “Sure, what do you want to talk about?”

“How about the fact you should be dead right now,” Bobby said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sam tilted his head to the side. “Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion a little?”

Dean’s hands fisted and Sam half-expected him to throw another punch. “You could have survived the drowning, maybe, but you don’t lose that much blood and stay alive. You should be dead, Sam, so what happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Dean bellowed.

Sam looked down at his feet. He was close to telling them it all, about the cage and what Castiel had done, but he couldn’t let himself. Bobby would understand, maybe, but Dean definitely wouldn’t. It would be like slipping back two years to demon blood and panic room. Hell, maybe they’d even lock him up again. He knew he wasn’t being fair, but it was easier to deflect than to accept that he had to come up with something to tell them that they’d believe.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “Not yet. You’ve got to give me a little more time.”

“Time for what?” Bobby asked.

“Just time,” Sam said. He pulled on his boots and stood. It was dark outside the windows now, and they could deal with the ghost in peace.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dean asked.

Sam picked up the police file from the table and checked the photo one last time. “This is our guy. We need to salt and burn him.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked curiously. “Did you ID him as he was stabbing you or was it the drowning that did it?”

Sam closed his eyes and counted to ten before answering. “I saw him, that’s what matters.”

Dean cursed. “Me and Bobby will deal with it. You’re staying here.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “You’re putting me in a time-out?”

Dean didn’t answer. He just grabbed his jacket and made for the door. Sam made to follow but Bobby laid a hand on his chest. “He’s right, Sam. You should stay here.”

“Bobby, I’m not…”

“You drowned today. Miracle recovery or not, that comes with risks. You stay here and rest up. If anything happens, any trouble breathing or coughing, call an ambulance and us in that order.”

Sam sighed and flopped down on the edge of the bed. “Sure.”

Bobby looked appeased. “And, Sam… You can tell us, you know. Whatever happened, it can’t be worse than what’s already been done.”

Sam nodded vaguely and watched the door close behind Bobby. He shifted up the bed and rested his back against the headboard. His knees came up to his chest and he hugged his arms around himself, settling in for the wait.

xXx

Dean and Bobby had been gone an hour when Castiel arrived. Sam was curled up on the bed with a blanket over him. He couldn’t seem to shake off the chill of the lake and what had happened there from his bones.

“Sam,” Castiel said gently. “Are you okay?”

Sam shook his head. “I think I died today.”

Castiel’s eyes widened and for a moment, he looked furious. “What happened?”

Sam sat up and threw off the blanket. “We were working a case, a vengeful spirit at the lake, and I kinda drowned.” He smiled slightly. “Right after I got stabbed in the heart.”

Castiel stiffened and shook his head with his eyes squeezed shut. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Sam explained what had happened to him, from the moment they’d found the case to the moment he woke up, mouth full of water, floating on the surface of the lake. He told of how he’d struck out for the shore automatically, not truly understanding what had happened to him until he was on the shore and Dean was there.

“I died, Cas, but I’m still here. What’s happening to me?”

Castiel perched on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on Sam’s knee. “It must be the grace.”

“But I thought…” Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t think of this before, but it makes perfect sense. It is a small amount compared to what I possess, but it’s enough to heal you. While your soul remains in your body, entwined with my grace, it is able to heal.”

“But if I died, why was my soul still in my body?”

“Because there was no reaper,” Castiel said. “A soul remains in the body until the reaper comes for it. While you can be clinically dead, you will not move on until your soul is taken.”

“But why wasn’t the reaper there?”

“Because of the grace,” Castiel said. “You are changed now, Sam, changed enough that the order of human events is different for you. Just enough to trick the order of life.”

Sam sighed. “How am I supposed to explain this to Dean? He’s pissed at me, and I don’t know what to tell him.”

“You do not want to tell him the truth?”

“I can’t, Cas. Dean won’t understand.”

“Okay,” Castiel said. “Then we will need to—“

He stopped talking suddenly as the motel room door flew open and Dean was revealed on the threshold. His whole body seemed to be shaking with suppressed rage and his eyes were wild.

“Okay,” he snarled. “You two are going to tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.”


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter Thirteen_ **

 

Dean hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. His hand had been on the door, ready to open it, when he heard his name mentioned, and it made him pause to listen. _“I can’t, Cas. Dean won’t understand.”_

What wouldn’t he understand? What the hell had Sam gotten himself into this time? Given his brother’s history and ability to make a bad situation worse, he knew it wasn’t anything good and that he should be worried.

He barely heard Castiel’s response as he threw open the door and said, “Okay. You two are going to tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.” Echoing silence followed his pronouncement, and he felt his anger growing. “Really, don’t hold back on me. You were happy enough to talk a minute ago.”

He was at his limit. It had been too much in one day for him to handle. That woman had died, despite him trying his damndest to save her. And then Sam… Sam _had_ to have died. There was too much blood for him to have lived, not to mention the knife hole in his shirt. Sam _had_ died. But there he was, alive and well and talking with Castiel about how Dean wouldn’t understand. And Dean needed answers dammit!

“Dean,” Castiel began, but Sam held up a hand and he fell silent. When did Castiel ever develop enough self-awareness to follow that unspoken command? What was he doing here anyway? He was supposed to be fighting his war, not visiting in the night to chat with Sam without Dean knowing.

“Someone better answer me or I swear I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow. “Punch me again?”

“Don’t test me, Sam.”

Sam got to his feet and made to walk towards Dean, but Castiel caught his arm. At the touch, Sam turned and looked at the angel instead.

“This is not helping, Sam,” Castiel said softly.

“How’s about we all calm down and talk about this,” Bobby said, pushing past Dean and coming into the room, “like adults.”

Castiel nodded his agreement and tugged on Sam’s arm until Sam stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed again. Screw the changes in Cas, since when had _anyone_ been able to get Sam to calm down on command? Dean had never managed it.

Bobby gave Dean a hard look and he took a deep breath. He needed to calm down, too. His heart was pounding and his head ached with the tension. “Okay,” he said in a measured tone, “Sam, what won’t I understand?”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

“I think it’s a mite too late to be playing the secrecy card now, son,” Bobby said reasonably. “We know the two of you are hiding something, so come on, spill.”

Castiel stared at Sam and they seemed to be having some kind of silent conversation. Sam was shaking his head, and Castiel was nodding, and it was damn stupidest thing Dean had ever seen.

“No, Cas,” Sam said in a dangerous voice.

“It’s too late, Sam. They have to know.”

Sam threw his hands up in defeat and Castiel turned away from him with a determined yet distressed expression.

“What you must understand is that this was done to save Sam,” he began. “Without it, he would have perished.

“Is this about what happened today?” Bobby asked. “’Cause if you were there, Cas, you could have let us know. We did a whole lotta hurting thinking he was dead.”

It wasn’t about that though, Dean knew. If Castiel had saved Sam at the lake, he wouldn’t have left Dean and Bobby diving for him, thinking he was dead. Castiel had come a long way from the automaton he had been when Dean had first met him. He knew about suffering, and he wouldn’t have left Dean and Bobby to suffer knowing Sam was alive. Which meant some other bombshell was coming, and Dean wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

Castiel shook his head. “It is about what happened in the cage.”

Sam was staring determinedly at the opposite wall. His jaw was clenched and his hands fisted in his lap. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the mention of the cage or the fact Castiel seemed determined to tell them whatever it was Sam was hiding that had him on edge.

“And what did happen?” Bobby pressed.

“As you know, Adam perished in the cage. He suffered too much for his soul to withstand. After Adam was lost, Lucifer and Michael turned their attentions to Sam mainly.”

Dean sucked in a breath. He’d thought when Castiel joined Sam in the pit, the torture would have spread out a little more evenly, that Sam would get a break.

“Sam suffered greatly,” Castiel continued, not acknowledging Dean’s reaction. “And his soul was damaged, too.”

Dean’s eyes snapped to Sam who was still staring pointedly at the opposite wall. Was Sam damaged still? Is that what was wrong with him, why he didn’t seem as screwed up as he should be from Hell? Dean didn’t know much about souls, but they had to be pretty damn important. Was it possible that they would affect Sam’s ability to feel what had happened to him. What did that make him?

“Okay,” Bobby said calmly, “Sam had a rough time of it, we get that, but what’s that got to do with what’s happening now?”

Only someone who had never experienced Hell’s blades could refer to it as ‘ _a rough time of it’_. Bobby didn’t have a clue what it was really like for them.

Castiel seemed to steel himself and Sam looked up at him, open pleading in his eyes. He was begging Castiel not to say this.

“I bound us together,” Castiel said, and Sam covered his face with his hands as if he couldn’t bear to see their reaction.

Bound together didn’t sound so bad. If anything it had to be a good thing. How could being bound to an angel be a bad thing?

“And what exactly did that entail?” Bobby asked.

Castiel stared at Sam for a long moment, looking apologetic, and then fixed his eyes on Dean. “Sam now possesses some of my grace.”

“Your grace!” Dean gaped at him. “You mean the thing that makes you an angel is in _him_? What the hell does that even mean?”

Sam huffed a laugh and looked up at Dean. “It means Cas saved me. That’s what matters. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

“No, Sam, we can’t,” Dean said brutally. “You’ve got grace in you. I think that deserves a little discussion. What does it mean for Sam?” he asked, addressing Castiel now. “Is he even… human anymore.”

Sam lurched to his feet and pointed at Dean accusingly. “This! This is why he wouldn’t understand, Cas. Anything different in Dean’s world means bad. He doesn’t even think I’m human now. What do you think he’s going to say when you tell him the rest?”

“There’s more?” Dean’s voice echoed off of the walls. “What the hell did you do?”

“Sam would have perished,” Castiel said again, and Dean wished he hadn’t; he didn’t need to keep hearing how close he’d come to losing his brother. “I did what was necessary.”

“We get that, Cas,” Bobby said. “But we need to know this stuff. What else happened down there?”

Sam‘s hands were fisted at his sides and his eyes were wild. He was one step away from throwing punches. It was a big change from the happy Sam they’d been dealing with since he got back, and Dean didn’t like it. It reminded him too vividly of the way Sam had been before he’d taken Lucifer out, full of rage all the time. He’d thought they’d moved past that.

“He took my soul!” Sam shouted. “Cas took my soul and gave me his grace.”

Dean took a step back as if Sam had physically stuck him. This was worse, so much worse, than a damaged soul. This was _no_ soul. Rage filled him, hot and wild, and he glared at Castiel, close to physically attacking him. It was only the knowledge that it wouldn’t even hurt Castiel that stopped him.

“You _took_ his soul!” he said in a low growl.

“I did not take it,” Castiel said serenely. “Not all of it. I merely took a portion into myself to protect it. While it is in me, it cannot perish.”

Sam was staring at Castiel with an intense look in his eyes, half grateful half pissed.

“Okay,” Bobby said slowly. “You saved him. We’re glad you did, but now you’re out, can’t you… you know… give it back?”

“Not without great risk.”

Dean paced up and down the room like a caged tiger. His mind was racing. Sam had grace in him. Maybe he could get past that, maybe, but to have his soul taken… It was too much. Sam wasn’t human anymore. He couldn’t be. Souls were what got into Heaven, not bodies. It might look like his brother but it wasn’t really. He wasn’t all there anymore. Part of him was gone.

“Do it anyway,” Dean said quietly. “Give it back. Take it out. Do whatever you have to do to make him Sam again.”

“I’m Sam now!” Sam shouted. “This isn’t like demon blood. It’s not dark. It’s pure. It saved me.”

“Humans don’t come back from the dead, Sam.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean conceded his point. _They_ did, but never through something like this. They’d always been, no matter what happened to them, human. Sam couldn’t be human anymore. Not with grace in him and half his soul gone. That wasn’t Dean’s brother.

“I cannot give it back without risking Sam’s destruction,” Castiel said. “And even if there was no risk, I would not do it unless Sam wanted me to.” He looked at Sam. “Do you want me to?”

Sam shook his head.

“Of course he’s saying that,” Dean snapped. “He’s all hopped up on angel juice. Doesn’t this seem a little familiar to you, Cas? ‘Cause it does to me. God might have zapped the demon blood out of him, but you’ve gone and got him hooked on something worse.”

Sam shook his head and turned away, his whole body radiating fury. Dean didn’t much care if he was angry. He wasn’t Sam. He was a junkie again.

“It isn’t like that,” Castiel said. “Sam is not… hooked on anything. He’s still your brother.”

“Then explain this,” Bobby said. “Why is Sam so chipper now? He’s been through hell and yet you’d have thought it was a trip to Disneyland from the way he’s been acting since he got back.”

Castiel sighed. “It is the grace. Sam is feeling a portion of what all angels feel. It is not a bad thing however. It has changed him to have grace in him as it has changed me to carry Sam’s soul.”

“So you’re a pair of addicts,” Dean said bitterly.

“I am _not_ an addict,” Castiel said, and for the first time he looked as pissed as Sam. “Nor is your brother.”

“Is he even my brother anymore?” Dean asked again. “He can’t die, which puts a pretty big cross on the against list.” He raked his hands through his hair. This was all so wrong. Sam was a junkie again and Castiel, his friend, had knowingly done it to him.

“He is—“

Sam spoke over Castiel. “Castiel did something amazing for me, Dean. He saved me. And all you can do is crap on about how I'm not human. Maybe I'm not, but don’t care. This isn’t something you need to fix. _I’m_ not something to fix. I’m Sam. And if that’s not good enough for you, I don’t care. I’m done.”

He marched across the room and started stuffing his clothes into his duffel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dean asked.

“I’m getting the hell away from you.”

“You think I’m going to just let you walk away?”

“I’m thinking I’m not giving you a choice. Cas, help me out.”

Castiel stared searchingly at Dean for a moment, looking for something Dean didn’t possess, and then he nodded. With a soft fluttering sound, Castiel and Sam disappeared.

xXx

Dean couldn’t sleep that night. He sat on his bed, leaning against the headboard, gripping the neck of a bottle of cheap whiskey in his fist. Bobby had long since abandoned him to sleep in his own room, and Dean was alone.

Now he’d had a chance to calm down, he saw that he couldn’t have handled the situation worse if he’d tried. Because of his anger, he had driven Sam away, and that was a huge mistake. If he was right, and Sam wasn’t himself anymore, he had set him loose on his own without anyone to keep an eye on him.

That wasn’t his only concern. There was also the fear that he had been wrong. He hated to entertain the idea that he’d driven his brother away for nothing, but there was the slimmest chance he and Castiel had been right; that Sam was still Sam. Now his anger had left him, he was able to think rationally again, and he was forced to consider the facts. Even if Sam wasn’t all the way human, did it necessarily mean he was bad? Could he have grace in him and still be Sam? Could he be himself without all of his soul?

He didn’t think so, but the fact he’d driven Sam away while there was a chance he was wrong was not a cheerful thought.

He took another swig from the bottle and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. His head fell back against the wall and he closed his eyes. This was all some kind of nightmare.

His eyes snapped open as he heard a rustling sound. Castiel was standing at the end of his bed and looking down on him with unconcealed frustration. “Dean.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his anger toward the angel not abated all the way.

“I felt there were things we needed to discuss,” Castiel said.

“Yeah? Like the fact you got my brother hooked up to a new vice?”

Castiel sighed. “That is not what happened, Dean. It has changed Sam and I, but we are not what you believe.”

“How has it changed you?” Dean asked curiously. “What exactly does it give you to have Sam’s soul in you.”

“I am strengthened by it,” Castiel said. “I feel him and sense—“

Dean raised a hand. “Hold up! You’re stronger now? Let me get this straight, having Sam’s soul in you gives you some kind of angelic power-up? What the hell, Cas! Did you know that would happen? Is that why you did it, so you would have a chance against Raphael?”

“How could I?” Castiel asked impatiently. “When I took Sam’s soul into myself, I believed it would stay there for an eternity of Hell. I never imagined we would be freed.”

Dean discounted Castiel’s words. “Where’s Sam?”

“Not here.”

“Well thanks for that shocking revelation. What I meant was where the hell did you take him?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “I do not think he would want me to tell you.”

“But you’re going to tell me anyway, right?”

Castiel shook his head. “No.”

Dean groaned. “Look, Cas, I know you’re pretty new to the story of Sam and Dean, but this is how we work. We get pissed, we say things, and then we get over it. I can’t make Sam get over it if I don’t know where he is.”

“I do not believe Sam is ready for that. The man I left showed no signs of being prepared to ‘get over it’.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean said bitterly. “You barely know Sam. I’ve had a lifetime of him. I know him better than you can ever hope to.”

Castiel’s eyes tightened. “You may have had a lifetime of Sam, but I shared Hell with him, I know him.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Yeah, you had Hell with Sam, and whose fault was that? You went in to save him and got trapped there too. That was a pretty crappy rescue mission, Cas.”

Castiel stiffened and Dean thought for a moment that he saw the shadows of great wings on the wall behind him. For the first time since Castiel had physically beaten him in an alley in his frustration at Dean’s weakness, he felt a thrill of fear and realization that Castiel was a powerful being that could smite him as he stood and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Cas…” he started, but Castiel shook his head curtly.

“No, Dean. Like your brother before me, I too am done. I don’t want to hear from you again. What is the human phrase? Oh, yes, lose my number.”


	14. Chapter 14

Sam sounded angry as he asked Castiel to take him away, but there was something else in his eyes that made Castiel falter. He had seen it before in the cage; it was the face of Sam's suffering.

He stared at Dean for a moment, wanting him to notice it, too, wanting him to stop his brother, but Dean merely stared resolutely back, fury still roiling in his eyes. Castiel spread his wings and carried Sam away.

As he set them down on the sand of a Florida beach, Sam walked away from him, his hands fisted at his sides. Castiel wanted to comfort him, but he didn't know how. He could not sit beside Sam as he had done so many times before, bracing an arm around the man and providing shelter in his arms, because Sam was in motion still.

"Sam," he said gently.

"I can't believe him!" Sam shouted. "Why can't he, just once, believe that I know what I'm doing?"

Castiel opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it closed. In Dean's defense, Sam's choices in the past—always made with good intentions—had not been consequence free. But this was different. Castiel had put something good and pure into Sam and he had taken the same in return. As for the consequences, there had been consequences, but they weren't bad; Sam's life had been saved by them.

Though Castiel hadn't spoken, Sam saw his hesitation and seemed to know what Castiel was trying not to say.

"It was different," he said brutally.

"I know," Castiel said serenely. "But I cannot forget what I know."

Sam sighed, and the anger seeped out of him. He sat down on the sand and hid his face in his hands so his voice was a little muffled. "He wanted me to be human so bad last time. He would swear I was again and again. Why can't he do that now?"

"I don't know," Castiel said honestly.

"He doesn't even think I'm human," Sam said plaintively. "How am I supposed to show him that he's wrong?"

Castiel sat on the sand beside Sam and shifted so they were pressed shoulder to shoulder. Sam leaned against him and stared up at the sky.

"I just wish I could make him understand," Sam said. "This is a good thing. How could it be anything else? It's grace and soul."

Castiel wished he could make Dean understand too. He hated that Sam was hurting, and it made him angry at Dean and himself. Sam hadn't wanted to tell Dean. Castiel should have adhered to his wishes—San knew Dean better after all. Though he had been among the Winchesters for over two years now, there was still much about Dean that he did not know or understand. He knew Sam though. He not only felt his soul burning inside his chest, giving him unique insight into the young man, he had spent decades with him in the cage. Castiel didn't think he knew any of his angelic family better, and he had been among them for millennia.

"He just needs time to adjust," Castiel said, having no idea if it was true or not.

Sam shook his head. "That's not going to do it this time. He can have all the time he likes, but I didn't lie when I said I was done."

"That is your anger talking."

"Maybe not. Things are different now, Cas. Since the day Dean came and got me from Stanford, we've been working a mission. First it was finding Dad, and then it was Yellow-Eyes, then Dean's deal and Lilith and Lucifer and the damn apocalypse. There's always been something we have to fight together. That's over now. Raphael is out there, but that's not down to us." He smiled apologetically. "We can't fight him, I wish we could, but it's ultimately down to you. So, there's nothing forcing us to stay together anymore. We get to live the lives we want."

"And what is it that you want, Sam?" Castiel asked.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know anymore. I just know things can't be the way they were."

Castiel saw that Sam was balanced over a precipice. If his anger was to win, and Sam was to make a choice, things for the Winchester brothers would never be the same again. Sam loved his brother, Castiel had no doubt of that, but he wouldn't be as affected as he once would have been if this was the end for them. His time in the cage had changed Sam, and Castiel wasn't sure Dean realized that.

"Do not make any decisions lightly," Castiel warned. "You may come to regret them."

Sam stared out at the waves, not seeming to be listening to Castiel.

"What are you thinking?" Castiel asked.

Sam sighed. "I'm thinking about Bobby."

That was one good thing about the situation, Castiel thought. Bobby had not come down on either side in the argument, which had to mean that Sam had at least one ally in this. One person that understood Sam might be changed, but it didn't necessarily mean he was bad.

"Bobby will help Dean to calm down and understand," Castiel said with certainty.

Sam's teeth snapped together and his jaw tightened.

Castiel knew from his reaction that he had missed something important, some facet in Sam's mind, but he did not know what it was. "What is it?"

"Bobby…" Sam sighed. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"He did not join Dean against you."

"No. In a way that was worse. Bobby is the only one that had a chance of calming Dean down when it all went to hell, but he didn't. He just stood there, watching me as if waiting for me to grow horns. He was just as freaked, he just let Dean be the one to say it."

Castiel did not know if what Sam was saying was true or not. He had been so consumed with the argument boiling between Sam and Dean that he hadn't paid the older hunter much attention. Sam could have been reading more in to the situation than was really warranted, or he could be right. Was it possible that the two people Sam cared about most in the world believed him less than human now?

And it was all Castiel's fault. He had been the one to do it. He had given Sam his grace and taken a portion of his soul in return. He alone had made that choice. But he could not regret it. Because of that, Sam had been saved, and there had been nothing Castiel wanted more. If in the same situation now, he would do it all again, as it was worth the price of Sam's family if it would keep him in the world.

Sam began to gather sand in his hands and let it trickle through his fingers. He watched it with a focused expression and Castiel wondered what meaning he was gathering from his actions, or whether it was a purely tactile experience.

"I need to go," Castiel said reluctantly.

Sam's head snapped up. "'Course. You've got stuff to be doing, Raphael and all. Sorry for keeping you from it for so long."

Castiel wasn't planning to go back to Heaven, though perhaps he should. He wanted to speak with Dean first, to perhaps warn him of the rift that was working towards a chasm. He felt that Dean deserved to at least know what was happening before it was too great an obstacle for them to overcome. He also knew it was not a good idea to tell Sam where he was going. Sam might try to stop him, and though any efforts would be fruitless, Castiel knew what he had to do, it would perhaps cause a rift between them. There was little Castiel wanted less.

"I shall return as soon as I can," he said.

Sam nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "Okay." He shouldered his duffel and started along the dunes toward the lights of the town. "Oh, Cas, where are we?"

Castiel smiled. "Florida. I thought perhaps you could use some distance."

Sam laughed. "You weren't wrong."

* * *

Sam was lying back on the sand, staring up at the starry sky, thinking of Dean. Rather than abating, his anger seemed to be growing. Dean was wrong. There was nothing wrong with Sam. He wasn't dangerous. He wasn't bad. He was human. So he had grace in him, that had to be a good thing.

He hadn't been alone long when he heard the rustle of wings and his heart jumped. What had happened that made Castiel return already, and what had happened to make the angel so angry? Sam could feel it, separate to his own anger. This was more intense; like having a burning coal in the pit of his stomach.

He sat up. "What happened?"

"I went to see, Dean," Castiel said.

"Why?"

"I thought he deserved to be warned of the direction your thoughts were taking you. He should know how great a breach he has developed between the two of you."

Sam knew he should have been pissed, it wasn't Castiel's place to intervene between them, but he couldn't be. Castiel was acting for the best, at least in his eyes. In fact, seeing and feeling Castiel's anger made him calm down rapidly.

"I'm guessing that went well," he said with a cocked eyebrow.

Castiel drew a deep breath and sighed. His anger seeped out of him and Sam. It was as if he had expelled the emotion with the breath. "It did not."

Sam leaned back on his elbows. "Why am I not surprised?"

A pissed Dean was bad, but Dean in the aftermath of an argument was worse. He was likely to lash out at anyone and everyone in his path. The only thing to do if you didn't want to come to blows again, was to leave him to the alcohol he inevitably obtained and wait for him to get over it. He generally did.

Castiel sat down on the sand beside Sam. "I told him to lose my number."

That was unexpected. Castiel put up with a lot of crap from both Sam and Dean, but he had never given up on them. If anything, it had made him fight harder. When Dean was going to Michael, hell bent on saying yes, he had beaten Dean bloody rather than cut his losses and relocate to somewhere a little less apocalyptic. What could Dean have done that was bad enough to make Castiel give up now?

"You sure about that?" Sam asked.

Castiel turned to him and frowned. "You're disappointed."

"Yeah, but not with you," Sam said. "I'm guessing Dean did or said something pretty shitty to make you do this, so I'm kinda wondering what."

"It doesn't matter," Castiel said. "It's over now." There was terrible finality in his tone.

Sam bit his lip. There was something he needed to say, but the angel had caught him off guard and he wasn't sure if he even could say it now. He didn't know how Castiel would react, and he owed the angel more than he could ever repay. Shouldn't he support him now?

"What is it?" Castiel asked.

"I was just thinking, what if Dean needs you? I know hunts are pretty thin on the ground at the moment, and you've got so much to be dealing with already, but Dean could be in trouble and…" He trailed off at the intense look in the angel's eye. "Never mind."

Castiel stared out at the waves for a moment in silence, seeming to consider carefully. "I shall make arrangements for Dean's protection. You need not worry. He will be safe,"

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Cas."

"Am I to understand that your concern for your brother is a sign that you will be returning to him now?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I guess that depends on what happened between you two."

Castiel sighed. "He told me I did not know you. He blames me for the amount of time you were forced to spend in the cage. His exact words were _'That was a pretty crappy rescue mission'._ I was… Where are you going?"

Sam was on his feet and rooting through his pockets for his cell, anger surging through him. How could Dean blame Castiel for _that_? He had risked everything to save Sam, and it had cost him terribly. He retrieved the phone and dropped it into the trashcan at the edge of the beach. "He can lose my number, too," Sam said savagely.

Castiel stared at him for a moment, as if assessing his determination and then he nodded. He wasn't going to argue.

Sam was glad. He was done.

* * *

Dean woke the next morning to a pounding head and an even louder pounding on the motel room door.

"All right," he groaned. "I'm coming."

He staggered across the room and pulled open the door to reveal Bobby. "Finally," Bobby said. "I've been knocking for about five minutes." In his hands were two cups of coffee, and it was the sight of them that stopped him cussing Bobby out—not that it would have done any good.

Bobby eyed the room, seeing the empty liquor bottle on the nightstand and the smooth sheets of the second bed. His brow furrowed. "No Sam then?"

Dean shook his head. "No Sam." He was a little pissed Bobby felt the need to ask when it was obvious Sam wasn't going to be coming back anytime soon.

Bobby sat down at the table and nursed his cup between his hands. "You heard from him?"

Dean raised his eyes and glared at Bobby. Did he really think Dean wouldn't have mentioned it? No. He was just making a point by asking, letting Dean know he'd fucked up.

"You can cut that out," Bobby said gruffly. "Glare all you like, it ain't gonna change what happened."

Dean took a swig of his coffee and burned his tongue. He didn't react though, he didn't want to give Bobby amusement or a segue into a lecture. Dean didn't need it. He already knew he'd screwed up. No matter if he was right or wrong about Sam, he shouldn't have let him go. If he was right, and Sam was now less than human, he needed to be with Dean. And if he was wrong, and Sam was still Sam… Well, then he'd driven his brother away for nothing.

"You heard from Cas?" Bobby asked.

Dean sighed and raked a hand over his face, feeling the tension in his brow. "Yeah, he came by last night."

"He tell you where he took Sam?"

"No, he said he didn't think Sam would want us knowing."

"Then what did he want?" Bobby asked.

"He said that there were things we needed to discuss."

"Oh yeah, like what?"

Dean shook his head. "No idea. We didn't really get into it. Things didn't go so well."

Bobby leaned back and took a swig of his coffee. "You lose your temper again?"

"No!" Dean said defensively. "Well, maybe a little. But I wasn't the only one. Cas was in a pissy mood already."

"What _exactly_ happened?"

Dean gave him an account of what had happened with Castiel, not omitting anything. Bobby would know if he was lying, and he wanted to get it all out in the open now, to maybe be given justification in what had happened.

"You told him he didn't know Sam," Bobby said tonelessly. "I get why he was pissed. I would have been too."

"But he doesn't," Dean said. "He doesn't have our history. He knows what he read in Chuck's books, and Chuck skims over a bunch of stuff. They're just books, you know. Let's not forget that, until recently, he was the one calling Sam the 'abomination'"

"That's true," Bobby said. "And up to a couple months ago I'd have agreed with you. Cas didn't know Sam, but then he went to Hell, and that changed things. They were there together for months. You know how that equates to Hell time. Even if it wasn't longer, they went through a lot there, and that forms a bond. Add to that the fact Castiel is running around with a part of Sam's soul, and you've got a pretty good foundation for a changed relationship."

"You're saying Cas and Sam are war buddies now?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Bobby said.

Dean shook his head. "Okay, they've got a _'bond'_ or whatever, but I've known Sam his whole damn life. I practically raised the kid, and…" _And I let him go…_ He didn't articulate the last, but Bobby seemed to hear it anyway.

"Yeah," Bobby said with a nod. "You screwed up pretty bad."

Dean bristled. "I noticed that you weren't exactly cheering for Team Sam yesterday. You stood back and let me take it all."

"If I'd been able to get a word in edgeways…" Bobby started but Dean shook his head and Bobby cast his eyes down to the table. "Okay, I screwed up, too. I should have said something. It was all a lot to take in."

"And yet I managed," Dean said.

"Yeah, you managed plenty."

"You're still not saying it though," Dean observed. "What do you think?"

"I think Cas took a hell of a risk doing what he did, and I don't know how it could have impacted Sam as a person, but I do know this. What happened yesterday at the lake, Sam… you know… none of that would have been possible if Cas hadn't done it. This bond or whatever saved Sam's life, and for that I'm grateful."

"And if it means he's not human?"

Bobby looked thoughtful. "Does it matter? I know you and me have only seen the dark side of people that aren't all the way human, but if Sam isn't, and that's a big if, does it necessarily mean it's a bad thing? He's got grace in him, which makes him closer to angel than monster. And that can't be a bad thing, can it?"

Dean considered carefully before answering. He wished none of this had happened. He wished that Castiel had found some other way to save his brother without compromising who and what he was. And it wasn't as if Sam seemed bad. If anything the grace had done him a favor. Making him happy and nightmare free after Hell, except for that last day… What had happened then? But even with the last day, Sam had seemed like himself. A version of himself that Dean hadn't seen since before Jess died. Did it even matter if he was different if he wasn't dangerous?

"No," Dean admitted finally. "Grace or not, he's still Sam."

Bobby nodded approvingly. "Yeah. He is. So what are we going to do now?"

"Do?" Dean said blankly.

"You might have noticed he's not here," Bobby said. "Don't you think we should do something about that?"

Dean groaned. He was going to have to call Sam and make with the apologies. He wasn't exactly overjoyed at the prospect. Sam could really hold a grudge. They were in for at least a week of pointed silences and bitch faces.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed speed dial one. It rang out and then connected to Sam's voicemail service. "This is Sam. Leave your name and number after the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Dean didn't leave a message. There was no need. Sam would see the missed call.

"No joy?" Bobby said.

Dean shook his head. "You try."

Bobby dialed and again there was no answer.

"Think he's ignoring us?" Dean asked.

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe. He should know better though."

Sam really should know better. No matter what happened, no matter how pissed they were, they made sure they were reachable. If they physically could answer their phones, they did.

"The hell with that," Dean said. He dialed again, making sure to block his number this time. It rang three times and then was connected. Not letting Sam talk, he launched into a tirade. "I don't care how pissed you are, you answer your damn phone, Sam."

"Who's Sam?" an interested voice asked. "And what did you do to piss him off?"

"Sam?"

"No, man, this is Richie."

"Why do you have my brother's phone?"

"'Cause it was kinda getting on my nerves with the ringing. I'm just trying to picnic with my girl, and you're totally killing the mood with the calls."

"Where did you get this phone?"

"It was on the top of the trash in the can," the man said.

"Where?" Dean asked through gritted teeth. "Where exactly are you?"

"Sanibel, Florida." There was a female voice in the background and then the man spoke again. "Sorry, dude, I've got to book. Lady needs me."

"Wait! Can you see a man around. Ridiculously tall with ridiculous hair?"

"No, it's just me and my girl. Sorry."

The call was cut and Dean lowered the phone to stare blankly at the screen.

"Well?" Bobby probed.

"He dumped his phone in a trashcan in Florida. Some guy answered it."

He dumped his damn phone. That was just wrong. Sam knew, they all knew, you stayed reachable. In their world, there was often a life or death reason for a call.

"Guess he's more pissed than we thought," Bobby said calmly.

"I'm calling, Cas."

"I thought he told you to lose his number."

"Yeah, that was before Sam decided to be a little bitch. He can sulk all he likes, but he doesn't get to pull something like this. Anything could be happening to him, to us, and how's he supposed to know?" He raised his eyes. "Castiel. I need to speak to you. Sam's trashed his phone and—"

"I am here."

Dean spun in his heel, disappointment making his tone bitter as he said, "Inias? Where the hell is Cas?"

Inias looked uncomfortable. "I am to be your intermediary. Castiel has asked that you call on me by name if you are in need of Heaven's assistance."

"So, what, Castiel's too busy for us now?" Dean asked.

Inias nodded, seeming pleased that they had grasped this so quickly and without fuss. "Yes. And he has asked me to help you in his absence."

Dean and Bobby exchanged a glance. "Okay," Bobby said slowly. "So, do you know where Sam is? 'Cause we've been trying to call him and he dumped his phone."

"Yes," Inias said, looking uncomfortable again. "I am aware, and I know where he is." He sighed. "I have been given instructions in this matter." He looked Dean in the eye. "I was told to tell you that if Sam wanted you to know where he is, he would have told you himself. He obviously doesn't want to, so you should leave him alone. Sam does not need you right now."

"Sam said that?" Bobby asked, sounding stunned.

"No, the message came from Castiel."

Dean's eyes widened. Sam he could get being pissed, and Castiel a little, but not be blocked by this pip-squeak angel who didn't look like his vessel had even needed to shave before being taken over by a holy asshole. That was just wrong.

"Okay," he said angrily. "You can flap off up to Heaven again and tell Castiel I'm not moving till I talk to him, and if he thinks—"

"I was given instruction for this outcome too," Inias said soberly.

"Yeah? What are you supposed to tell me now?"

"Nothing," Inias said, and then he disappeared.

Dean gaped at the place he had just vanished from. "What the hell!"

Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. "I'm just guessing here, but I'm betting his instructions were to flap off if you got pissy." He huffed a laugh. "Sam's not the only one that's changed."

"Yeah, it's frickin' hilarious," Dean said bitingly. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

Bobby became solemn. "I guess we wait for one or both of them to calm down and come to us."

Dean cursed. That was just what he didn't think he could do.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter Fifteen_ **

 

Sam’s life alone fell into a rhythm. He moved north along the coast until he found a business that was hiring. It was a hotel and restaurant combined, and the job was bussing tables. There was a small room that came with the job, so he didn’t have to search for an affordable motel.

The restaurant was open through till two in the afternoon, so after clean up, he had the late afternoon and evenings to himself. For the first time in a long time, he was earning honest money, including the hefty tips the large groups brought in.

There were other people on staff, and though they were friendly enough, Sam didn’t make an effort to join them out of hours. He enjoyed the chance to be alone for a change. Not that he was always alone. Some nights he would be joined on the beach by Castiel. They would talk about everything and nothing, though they both avoided the topic of Dean and Bobby. Sam missed them and worried about them, but he was assured of their safety by the angel Castiel had designated as their guardian. Sam met Inias a couple of times, and he liked him. Sam hadn’t had many good experiences with angels excluding Castiel and Joshua, but Inias seemed okay.

On the nights that Sam was alone, he would lie on the beach, looking up at the stars and listening to the angel voices in his mind. Sometimes he would hear Castiel’s name and it comforted him to know the voices were peaceful. Castiel was up there, fighting his war, but he was okay.

Sam was okay, too, settled even, when doubts started to creep in about six weeks after he left Dean. He was enjoying his life, which felt good, but he wasn’t enjoying it as much as he once did. He missed the adrenaline of the hunt, and he couldn’t help but think of the people that were going unprotected because he wasn’t hunting.

It was a random day when he decided he needed to move on. Nothing about that shift at the restaurant was different from any other Friday. He worked the morning and cleaned up in the afternoon, then picked up his pay packet. He made his way back to his room, and before he knew what he was doing, he was packing up his duffel. It didn’t take long; he was used to living out of a bag, and despite his extended stay in Florida, that hadn’t changed.

He dropped the room key on the bed and propped the door open. He could have gone to Mike, the man who’d hired him, and explained that he had to move on, but he couldn’t motivate himself to come up with a story for him leaving. He wanted to slip away quietly.

Stopping only to sleep, he drove north in the crapped out Dodge Charger he’d stolen just outside town—the keys had been in the ignition and the door unlocked so he figured the owner deserved what he got—until he reached Tennessee. He informed Castiel of each stop on his journey with quick prayers, making sure to tell him he was okay and didn’t need anything. He knew he could have called Castiel or Inias and got a quick trip out of the state, but he liked to drive. It gave him time to think. And what he thought about was hunting.

xXx

Sam smiled ingratiatingly at the sheriff, trying not to smile as the man hitched his trousers up over his ample ass.

“Agent…?”

“Sucherman,” Sam said.

“Agent Sucherman.” He nodded to himself as if repetition would lock the name in his memory banks. It was the second time Sam had introduced himself, so he wasn’t holding out much hope. “And what can I do for you?”

“I’ve been sent about the death of Elliot McCarty,” Sam said.

He had found the obituary on the local news pages, and it had said the cause of death was an animal attack. In his line of work, it was rarely if ever an animal attack. It was far more likely to be a werewolf or skinwalker.

“Sad business,” the sheriff said. “His family are devastated, and the Thorntons too.”

“The Thorntons? Sam asked.

“Yeah, their son was the first one killed.”

“And how many deaths have there been now?”

“Elliot was the third. Same circumstances. The body was found in the Super Motel on the edge of town.”

Sam hid his surprise with a nod and pulled out a notepad from his breast pocket. “I thought these were animal attacks,” he said.

The sheriff leaned forward in his seat. “Truth is, we’re not sure what they are. They look like animal attacks, all right, but there’s… funky stuff.”

Sam decided to throw caution to the wind. “Missing hearts?”

The sheriff straightened and looked Sam in the eye. “No. Missing livers.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The boys have all been sans liver. It’s not neat and tidy like organ theft, these boys are messed up, but the liver is the only thing gone. And there’s where we’re finding them. They’re in the motel rooms, with the door closed tight behind them. I know there are pretty smart animals around, we sometimes get black bears in from the park, but I’ve not met a bear yet that’ll close the door on the way out.”

Sam was baffled. He’d never heard of a fugly that went after livers before. It had always been hearts. And yet it didn’t sound like a human crime, unless it _was_ organ theft and they were trying to conceal it by making it look like an animal. But why only take the liver? If you were going to kill, it made more sense to get as much for the crime as you could.

“I’ll need to see the files,” Sam said. “And I’d appreciate a copy of the coroner’s reports.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’ll fix that for you. I don’t mind telling you I could use your help on this. The families haven’t swallowed the animal attack story, and they’re getting antsy.”

Sam nodded vaguely as the man got to his feet and called out the door for someone called Tim to copy the files for the good agent.

Ten minutes later, he was leaving the PD with the case files and coroner’s reports under his arm and walking along the block to where he’d left the car. Nothing said phony agent like a crapped out and stolen car.

In a macabre coincidence, he’d checked into the Super Motel on the outskirts of town for the duration of the case. He considered changing for a moment, and then decided against, He wasn’t squeamish and it might even be advantageous to be at the scene of the deaths.

When he got back to his room, he took off his jacket and tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Sitting at the small table, he spread out the autopsy photographs and started to read through the reports. The first body had been found by maid service and the following two by the motel manager when the keys weren’t returned. The rooms were all checked into on the night by the victim, and no one else had been seen with them. The autopsy photos were grisly. There were obvious claw marks on the chests and stomach. Sam had seen marks like this before when a werewolf had pinned their prey down while eating, but that had always been hearts…

Shaking his head, Sam set up the laptop and started a search for stories of missing livers. The only results that came up were articles of partial liver donations and a blog about _Silence of the Lambs_. Sighing and admitting defeat, he leaned back in his chair and raked his hand over his face. He needed help and he knew whom he _should_ ask, but he didn’t want to do it. Bobby had let him down. As time had passed and he’d had more time to think about it, he’d grown more and more angry with the older hunter.

He stared down at the cell phone on the table. It was just a basic prepaid model he’d picked up at a Walmart on the way out of Florida. He knew he _should_ phone Bobby, he needed information, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Then another person’s face came to him and he grinned. He wasn’t completely cut off after all. He checked the number in his notebook and dialed.

“Who’s this?”

“Rufus, it’s Sam Winchester. I need help.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Reminds me of someone else I know.” There was a heavy sigh. “What can I do for you, Sam?”

“I’m on a hunt in Tennessee and I need help?”

“Tennessee,” Rufus said in a musing tone.

Sam heard voices in the background and suspicion crept over him. “Rufus, where are you?”

Rufus laughed softly. “Why? Afraid I’m going to blow your cover in the Great Sam Hunt? Don’t worry. I’m not with them. I did just leave them behind though.”

“Are they okay?” Sam asked, chewing his lip.

“They’re about as good as they ever are,” Rufus said. “Where in Tennessee are you?”

“That depends. If I tell you, will you tell _them_?” Sam asked.

“Nope,” Rufus said happily. “Seems to me that if you’ve dodged them for six weeks there’s a good reason behind it and I shouldn’t get involved. I would like to get in on a hunt though. So, where are you?”

Sam didn’t detect a lie in Rufus’ voice, and he figured he could always disappear again if Dean and Bobby did show up with him, so he answered honestly. “Clarksville. I’ve booked into the Super Motel on the edge of town.”

“I’ll be with you by lunch tomorrow. You can take me somewhere nice to express your thanks for my, what is sure to be invaluable, help.”

Sam laughed. “You don’t even want to know what the case is?”

“Nah, I’ll keep it a surprise.”

They exchanged goodbyes and Sam set the phone down on the table again. He wondered if he was to call Rufus again, whether the line would be busy as Rufus told Dean and Bobby that he’d found Sam. He didn’t bother checking. If they came, he would deal with it.

xXx

Sam had suited up again and was sitting in the spacious lounge of the McCarty’s house. He was killing time until Rufus arrived really, but there was a chance the families might have some clue that the cops didn’t, and it wasn’t like the sheriff had instilled confidence in Sam for the job he was doing.

Elliot's mother was holding a photo album on her lap, and her finger smoothed over the cheek of her son’s graduation picture. “He was so happy,” she said mournfully. “He’d just graduated college, engineering, he was always so clever, and he was going to start looking for a job in the new year. He just wanted some time to relax, you know?”

“The night he died,” Sam said carefully, “did anything seem out of the ordinary?”

“No. He just went to The Mouse Trap like he had the previous two nights.” She smiled fondly. “I think he was meeting a girl. He was a shy boy and I don’t think he dated much at college, but I heard him talking to someone on the phone and I thought it must be a woman from the way he sounded—smitten.”

“Do you have a name?” Sam asked. “I’d like to talk to her?”

She shook her head. “No. He never said. And now…” Tears sprang to her eyes and she dabbed at them with a white handkerchief. “I keep thinking I’ll run out of tears, but they just keep coming.”

Sam gave her a sympathetic smile. Her whole world was crashing around her and there was nothing he could do to help her. Even if he did find her son’s killer, she could never know justice had been served. She was doomed to spend the rest of her life with unanswered questions.

Sam finished his coffee and then made his excuses and left. Rufus wouldn’t be there till the next day, so he made his way across town to The Mouse Trap, a bar he’d passed on his way through town. He parked in the lot out back and made his way inside. It was a nice place. The bar was marble or marble effect and behind the bar were shelves of sparkling glasses. There weren’t many people inside, but it was early. He sat on a stool and caught the eye of the bartender. “What can I get ya?” he asked,

“I need to talk to someone,” Sam said.

The man raised his eyebrows. “This isn’t a free therapy office, despite what you see on TV.”

Sam pulled his badge out of his pocket and held it up. “Not here for therapy,” he said, smiling slightly to soften his words. “I need to talk to someone about one of your customers.”

The man peered at the badge for a moment and then nodded. “Get a lot of customers. You’ll need to be specific.”

“His name’s Elliot McCarty and he died recently.”

“Yeah, I saw that in the paper. Shame, he was a nice kid. I knew him. He was a few years below me in school. Nerdy kid, always had his head in a book.”    

“Do you remember him being here?”

“Yeah, now that you mention it, I do. It stuck in my head because he’d changed a lot since school. Back then I’d have bet my lunch that he’d rather eat dirt than talk to a girl, but he was chatting with the group of girls most of the night, and he came back for two nights running.”

“Did you see him with anyone specific?” Sam asked. “Anyone you’d remember?”

The man scratched his chin, looking thoughtful for a moment. “No. I remember serving him a beer and a cherry soda, and I was thinking which drink was for him, because of how he used to be, you know, but I didn’t see who he was with. We get pretty busy in the evenings when the factories kick out, and I am pretty much on my feet the whole time.”

Sam sighed, disappointed that he hadn’t got anything useful. He put his badge away. “Thanks for your help. Can I get a beer, please?”

The bartender retrieved a cool beer from the fridge below the counter and handed it to Sam. Sam pulled out a bill from his wallet but the man shook his head. “No charge to federal agents.”

Sam nodded his thanks and moved from the bar to sit at a table. He took his phone out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of him. He was wishing Rufus was there already, or better yet Castiel. He wanted company.

As if his thought had summoned her, a woman slid into the seat opposite him and leaned over the table. She had platinum blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders and full lips painted deep red. Her eyes, her most striking feature, were a silvery grey.

“Hey there,” she said.

Sam smiled tightly. He wanted company, but not the company of a ‘businesswoman’, as he was sure she was. Who else would be so forward in an almost empty bar at five in the afternoon?

“I heard you talking with Mark. FBI, huh? That’s a pretty impressive job. Must be fun. I was thinking though. You look like you’re off duty now,”—she traced the neck of his bottle with one long, painted fingernail—“and you might be lonely.”

“Not lonely,” Sam said briskly. “I’m fine.”

Her perfect lips pouted into a moue of disappointment. “I can be fun…”

“I’m sure you can,” Sam said. “But I’m really not interested.” He pushed his beer away and got to his feet. “Thank you.”

“Your loss,” she said.

“Probably,” Sam replied, making for the door. Trying not to think of his brother’s face if he could have seen Sam chased out of a bar by a hooker, Sam let the door swing closed behind him.

Really, hunting alone was hard work.

xXx

Rufus arrived the next morning in his old Ford Zodiac. Sam met him at the diner on Main Street.

“I said somewhere _nice_ ,” he said irritably as he sank into the booth opposite Sam. “I meant a decent restaurant.”

“As soon as we wrap up this case, I’ll buy you a steak,” Sam said.

Rufus nodded. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, tell me what you’ve got so far.”

Sam told him all he’d learned of the case, not that it was much, and he watched Rufus for a sign of recognition. There was none.

“It doesn’t sound like anything I’ve come across,” Rufus said. “We’ll need another opinion.”

Sam buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t say it.”

Rufus chuckled. “Like it or not, Bobby has the best library in the hunter world. He’s the man we need.”

Sam groaned.

“What the hell did they do to you anyway?” Rufus asked.

“Really don’t want to talk about it.”

Rufus rubbed his chin. “Yeah, that’s what they both said, too. I’ve got to admit, I’m damned curious.” He stared at Sam for a moment and then shook his head. “Okay, I’ll make the call. You stay nice and quiet so we don’t tip them off.”

Sam nodded and leaned back in his seat. Rufus pulled out a phone from his pocket that looked like it was new in the late nineties and dialed.

“Bobby,” he said happily. “It’s your lucky day. I’ve got an excuse for you to dive into those books you love like a mother and search out something new for me.” There was a pause as Bobby spoke and then Rufus laughed. “We both know that’s not true. I'm a great friend. Now, what I've got is three victims of ‘animal attacks’ with missing— No, not hearts. You think I’m senile? Remember I’m the one that taught you to hunt. Good. These boys are missing livers. Sound familiar to you?”

Sam waited impatiently for a sign of hope, but Rufus gave away nothing. He must be a master at poker.

“Okay. You get looking for that and I’ll… Yeah, pretty much.” He was silent for a moment and his eyes locked on Sam. “Of course I haven’t seen him. Don’t you think I’d have mentioned it if I had? Yeah, Bobby. If I see him, you’ll be the first to know.” He ended the call and then looked up at Sam. “Happy?”

“Not particularly,” Sam admitted.

“No, you don’t look it.” He started to say something else, but Sam cut him off.

“I take it Bobby has nothing for us?”

“Nothing yet. He’s going to look into it for us. In the meantime, you and I are going to eat and then make a trip to see the coroner.”

“I already…”

“No, you didn’t,” Rufus said. “You saw the pictures. That’s not the same thing as getting up close to the body. Getting a feel for the case.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not criticizing your daddy, he was a hell of a hunter, but you’re going to be doing this case Turner style, and that’s a little different to how you’re used to working.”

Sam nodded, conceding to Rufus’ wishes. He was helping Sam out here, and better yet, he wasn’t telling Bobby or Dean where he was. If Rufus wanted to work a little different to what Sam was used to, it was fine. Sam might even learn something.

xXx

They didn’t hear from Bobby again for the rest of the day, and it was feeling defeated that Sam got back to the motel that evening. Though they’d met with the coroner and the families of the other victims, they’d learned little. The only useful piece of information they’d got was that the first two victims had both been out for a night on the town before their deaths, but the bars were different. One went to The Fillin’ Station and another to The Bent Wrench. It seemed the killer, whatever it turned out to be, was targeting men in bars as victims. There were so many bars in town, each crowded with men and women at the end of the working day, that it was impossible to protect them all.

Rufus checked into the room next door and they sat at the table in his room flipping through the case files and notes they’d taken during the day, hoping for something to occur to them. Sam was so absorbed in what he was reading that he started when Rufus’ phone started ringing.

“Yeah, Bobby, what you got for me? A what? Spell that out for me.” Rufus pulled over a pad of paper and started jotting down notes. “And what do they look like? Eyes? Okay. Well, thanks, Bobby. We appreciate it… Did I say we, I meant I.” He locked eyes with Sam across the table. “What do you mean my voice shakes when I’m lying? My voice don’t do shit… Okay, saying you’re right, and he is, what do you expect me to do?”

Sam groaned and hid his face in his hands. Bobby knew, which meant Dean would know, too. Which meant his little vacation from the drama was over. He could have packed up and left there and then, but the case was still unfinished, and he had a debt to the families he’d met. He had to see it through.

He looked up and saw Rufus was holding the phone out to him. Drawing a deep breath, he reached across the table and took it and held it to his ear. “Bobby.”

There was a quick breath drawn on the other end of the call, and then Bobby spoke. “Sam.” He heard a voice in the background of the call, cursing, and he recognized it as Dean. He didn’t want to speak to either of them particularly, but he thought it was better to talk to Bobby than Dean. “You okay, son?” Bobby asked.

“I’m fine,” Sam said shortly. “No need to worry.”

“We are worried,” Bobby said. “Have been for weeks now.”

“You don’t need to. I’m not doing anything that you need to worry about. No one’s been hurt.”

Bobby sighed heavily. “Hell, Sam, we know that. I know some things were said, but that was just heat of the moment stuff. No one really meant what they said.”

Sam was annoyed that Bobby was trying to pass of what had transpired between them as words spoken in anger. Maybe they had been, but they had also been what was believed. Dean didn’t think he was human. That was down to him. Sam knew the truth, and so did Castiel, and that was all Sam cared about.

“I don’t remember _you_ saying much at all, Bobby,” he said coldly.

“And I should have,” Bobby said. “I was wrong. We all were. But don’t you think this has gone on long enough now? Come back here and we can all…”

“Get over it?” Sam asked. “No.”

“You know he didn’t mean what he said.”

“Didn’t he? He sounded pretty certain to me.” He massaged his temples. He was getting a headache. “I’ve got to go.”

“Where are you?” Bobby asked quickly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said.

“Sam, don’t hang up on me!” Bobby growled, all false understanding and civility forgotten now.

“Goodbye, Bobby.”

He held the phone out to Rufus but he could hear Bobby shouting through the tinny speaker and then a second voice joining him which he was sure was Dean. He didn’t want to hear what accusations or remonstrances they were going to throw at him this time. He wasn’t interested. Rufus took the phone and hung up without a word to Bobby or Dean.

“Well, that went well,” he said.

Sam huffed a laugh. “It went better than last time we spoke.”

“Don’t suppose you’re going to explain to me what’s happened, are you?”

Sam shook his head. “No. It’s better you don’t know, Rufus, really.”

Rufus eyed him for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. This is what Bobby’s got for us. It’s called a Kumiho. It’s Korean. Basically a skin-walker at its roots. Its true form is a nine-tailed fox, but it can look like pretty much anything you want. One way to spot it is the eyes. They’re silver.”

“Like shape-shifter silver?” Sam asked.

Rufus shook his head. “No, actual silver colored eyes. Should stand out, right?”

“Yeah, we should… Damn…”

“What is it?”

“I’ve seen it,” Sam said, massaging his aching temples. “In the bar last night. I thought she was a hooker, because, well, she looked like one, and she was coming onto me.”

“You think she lined you up as victim number four?" Rufus asked.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. Did Bobby say how to kill it?”

Rufus nodded. “Standard silver to the heart. Of course that only works if we find her.”

“Don’t say it Rufus,” Sam begged.

“Sorry, boy, but it looks like you’re going hooker hunting.”

“Brilliant,” Sam said sarcastically. Wasn’t that the perfect end to a perfectly shit day.

xXx

Sam had been ready to head straight out for the bar, but Rufus—in one of the more bizarre conversations Sam’d ever had—insisted that he ‘spruce up’ a little first. He changed out of his rumpled shirt into a clean one and spent a couple minutes trying to tame his hair before giving it up as a good enough job. If she was a hooker, it wouldn’t matter how he looked as long as he had the money.

He set out for The Mouse Trap in the Dodge, and parked out back again. There were a lot more cars in the lot compared to last time he’d been there, so he wasn’t surprised when he got inside that the place was busy. He lucked out and got a stool at the bar, and ordered a beer from a young woman working the taps.

He looked around the room, trying to be casual, searching for a sign of platinum blonde hair, but he couldn’t see her. He took a sip of his beer and considered his options. Rufus was in place back at the motel, so he was alone in looking. There were plenty of bars in town, and he could be here a week searching them all, and there were no guarantees she would be in any of them. He could pull out the fed badge again, and start asking around, but that might tip her off that he was looking. He wanted to seem oblivious until the last minute.

Then he saw her. She was leaning against the wall by the pool table, watching the game in progress. He stared at her for a moment, wondering how he was supposed to get close to her if she was with someone else, when she looked up and caught his eye. She beamed at him and rounded the table, making her way towards him a sultry smile in place.

“Well, look who’s back,” she said when she was beside him. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam said. “I wanted to see you off duty. Last time I was on the clock and I think that might have made me a little rude.”

“Not at all,” she crooned. “Men of the law have serious work to do. Now, are you going to buy me a drink?”

Sam smiled at her. “What would you like?”

“Cherry soda.”

Sam caught the attention of the bartender and placed the order. When the bright red soda was in front of him, he turned his attention back to the woman.

She made a performance of sipping at her drink, full lips parted slightly. Sam supposed it was meant to be alluring. It had no effect on him, but he pretended otherwise. Watching her with wide eyes and a stupid smile.

“So… Agent,” she said, “have you solved your case yet?”

“Not yet,” Sam said. “But I think I’m getting close.”

“I bet you are.” She reached out and traced a fingernail down the front of his shirt. “You look the sort to get things… done.”

Sam had to bite back a laugh. If she laid it on any thicker, she’d need a trowel. It was all to his favor through, she wasn’t exactly making a point of resisting. It would be easier by far to get her out of the bar and back to the motel where he and Rufus would spring their trap.

“Say,” she said softly, “do you want to get out of here?”

Sam grinned devilishly. “Absolutely.”

She beamed at him. “I know this great spot near the park. We can park up and watch the stars and… whatever.”

Sam got to his feet and gestured her ahead of him. She swung a small purse over her shoulder and strutted toward the door with her hips swinging.

Sam unlocked the car door for her and she climbed in, her skirt riding up as she did and showing him a flash of long, bronze leg. He hurried around to the driver’s side and climbed in. He started the engine and headed out on Main Street.

“I’d have thought a FBI guy would have had a nicer car,” she said.

Sam stiffened slightly. “Yeah, the bureau doesn’t pay as much as you’d think.”

She laughed lightly. “Or maybe it’s because you’re not really an FBI agent.”

Sam turned to her and watched as she pulled a small gun out of her purse. He swallowed thickly as she jabbed it through the air, coming to a rest against the side of his chest.

“Maybe it’s because you’re a filthy hunter,” she said.

Sam considered pretending ignorance for a moment. It was pointless though. She knew what he was as well as he knew what she was. There was no point pretending otherwise.

“And you’re a filthy monster,” he said. “A Kumiho.”

“You did your research,” she said, “And yet you come after me without a weapon.”

That wasn’t entirely true. He had a silver knife in his boot, but the wealth of the weapons were back at the motel with Rufus, where they’re prepared to spring their trap. He could go for the knife now, but he was pretty sure she would have a bullet through his ribs if he so much as looked like he was going to attack. It was unlikely that would kill him, not now he had grace in him, but he didn’t want to test the theory.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Drive me to the Super Motel on Ranford Road,” she said. “When we get there, you’re going to get a room, and then we can talk.”

“Talk?” Sam scoffed.

“I am not going to kill you,” she said. “Not unless you force me to. I have a proposition for you, and we need privacy for that.”

Curious against his will, Sam put his foot down a little harder on the accelerator and directed them towards the motel. It was an uncomfortable ride, with the gun pressed against his ribs the whole way. She didn’t speak anymore; she just watched him with those strange silvery eyes.

When he pulled the car to a halt in front of his room, she pressed the gun in a little deeper. “Out!” she snapped.

Sam eased open the door and got out of the car, hoping with all he had that Rufus was ready and able in the room as once they were in private, it was going to happen fast. She climbed out too and moved swiftly to his side. She looped an arm through his, a pose that would look casual to an observer, and pressed the gun into his chest.

“In we go,” she said. “And don’t try anything.”

Sam unlocked the door and opened it slowly. Rufus was supposed to be lurking in the bathroom, that was the plan, but Sam couldn’t see any sign of him. He guessed that was a good thing. If he couldn’t tell Rufus was there, she wouldn’t be able to either.

She closed the door behind herself and lowered the gun so it was aimed at his gut. “Now, I want you to sit down nice and still so we can talk.”

Sam sat down on the chair at the table and rested his ankle on his knee, in the perfect position to reach for the blade, but he didn’t act yet. He would only have one shot and he needed to be sure Rufus was there to back him up.

She perched on the edge of the bed, still pointing the gun at him, with her back to the bathroom door.

“What do you know about my kind?” she asked.

“Not much,” Sam admitted.

“You don’t know about the hundred days ritual then?”

Sam shook his head.

“My kind are born, not made,” she said. “We were never human, but there’s a way we can be. There is a ritual that can make us human.”

Behind her, Sam saw the bathroom door open a crack and one bright eye peering through the gap. Rufus was there.

“How’s that work?” he asked, wanting to distract her.

“We must feed for one hundred days from one hundred men and we will be made human.”

“You’re killing men so you can become human!” Sam was disgusted.

“I have no choice!” she snapped. “You who are born human have no idea what it’s like for me. Can you imagine how it feels to know you are a monster?”

“I can,” Sam said honestly, “But that doesn’t mean you get to kill other people.”

“I want to be human,” she said plaintively.

“Yeah, I get that, but I can’t let you live.”

“You don’t have a choice,” she said. “You are the one-hundredth. If I kill you, I become human again.” She got to her feet. “I am sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sam said. He thrust his hand into his boot and pulled out the small silver knife. He threw it through the air, sending it into her gut. She bowed over with a scream of pain and fury, and pulled the knife out.

“Missed the heart!” she snarled, raising the gun again.

“I won’t!” Rufus kicked open the bathroom door. With a loud crack, he pulled the trigger and she crumpled to the floor.

Rufus nudged the body with his foot and rolled it over. Her silver grey eyes were open and staring and there was a small, neat blot of blood where Rufus’ bullet had hit.

“That’s that done then,” Rufus said with satisfaction.

Sam nodded. He was thinking of her ritual and quest to be human. He understood it. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t do the same in her position.

“Sam,” Rufus said, nudging his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a sigh. “I’m fine.”

He was fine, but the Kumiho was dead, and all she’d wanted to be was human.

Sam could relate.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter Sixteen  
_ **

 

The demon bucked and Bobby was dislodged from its back. He thumped down on the ground and his head hit hard against the gravel.

“Bobby!”

“I’m fine,” Bobby groaned. “Kill him.”

Dean grinned at the demon. “You heard the man. I’ve got to kill you.”

The demon skittered back until it was on the very edges of the devil’s trap and pressed against the invisible barrier. “Wait!” it said, raising the hands of the poor man it had possessed. “I can help you. I know stuff.”

“I’m sure you do,” Dean said consolingly. “But…” He snapped out a hand and gripped the demon’s shoulder. He pulled the demon forward and thrust the knife against its neck, driving the blade in so hard it scraped bone. Blood spurted out and peppered Dean’s face and shirt. Light crackled around the gaping wound and the demon crumpled to the ground.

Dean walked over to Bobby and held out a hand to help him to his feet. Bobby ignored it and struggled to his feet alone. Rubbing the back of his head, he said sarcastically, “Let’s find a demon, Bobby. It’ll be fun. One less scumbag on the streets.”

“Was I wrong?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, you were wrong. Fun doesn’t involve me getting a concussion.”

From behind them came the sound of slow clapping. “Look at that,” a dry voice said. “You killed the nasty demon.”

They both spun around and saw Crowley standing just outside the range of the devil’s trap.

“Crowley,” Bobby growled.

“Singer,” Crowley said cheerfully. “How’ve you been? Treating every day as the gift it is?”

“Yeah,” Bobby said dryly. “It’s a riot. You here to avenge your fallen salesman?”

Crowley walked around the edge of the trap, looking at the corpse of the demon. “Nah, he wasn’t all that good. Barely bought in a dozen souls a year. You did me a favor to be honest.”

“Then what do you want?” Bobby asked.

Instead of answering, Crowley shaded his eyes and looked around. “Hold up! Where’s the moose?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Busy.”

“Really?” Crowley asked with a raised eyebrow. “That’s not what I heard. Word on the street is that you boys are taking time apart for the good of your relationship.”

Dean was more than a little annoyed that his and Sam’s problems were apparently demon gossip now. “If you’re not here about that…” Dean toed the corpse, “what are you doing here?”

Crowley shrugged. “Checking my merchandise. Call it buyer’s privilege.”

“Merchandise?” Dean said blankly.

Crowley looked at Bobby and grinned. “Haven’t you told your sidekick yet, Bobby? Naughty naughty. Hiding things like that will break a relationship. Look at Moose and Squirrel.”

Cold, hard realization settled over Dean. Crowley still owned Bobby’s soul. Why hadn’t he told them? He rounded on Bobby. “When were you planning on telling us?” The ‘us’ slipped out unchecked. He was so used to him and Sam being a unit that it was hard to break old habits.

“The first of never,” Bobby said brutally. “It’s not your problem. It’s mine.”

Dean lunged at Crowley, Ruby’s knife held out in front of him, wanting nothing more than to sink it into Crowley’s heart.

Crowley dodged back and plucked at the lapel of his black coat. “Careful! That’s bloody Saville Row.”

“You said it was a loan,” Dean said in a low, dangerous tone. “You said you’d give it back.”

“You’re right. I did say that. But that was before I realized what a prime piece of stock I had on my hands. See, it occurred to me that now the apocalypse is over, you boys might make it something of a mission to come after me. While I own Bobby, you can’t do a thing to me.”

“I will kill you,” Dean vowed.

“Do that and you’ll never get Bobby’s soul free. You need to work with me, and I have a proposition for you. I need help and you’re battle trained and ready to go.”

“We’re doing nothing for you,” Bobby growled. “I’ll get my soul free, you can count on it, and I’ll do it without compromising any of us to you.”

Crowley sighed. “I thought you might say that. Never mind. You’re not my only option. There’s still the moose.”

“You stay away from Sam!” Dean said savagely.

Crowley winked at him and disappeared, leaving only a low laugh echoing behind him.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Bobby. “We need to talk.”

xXx

After providing Rufus with the promised steak dinner, Sam set out again, this time ending up in Nebraska. He camped out in a motel on the outskirts of Lincoln. He was keeping an eye out for cases, but there was nothing that looked promising. He still had enough money left from his stint in Florida to keep him going for a while, but he was considering looking for another job to give him something to do.  

One night, a week after his departure from Rufus, he got back to his motel and let himself into his room to see a familiar and hated demon sitting down at the table and clicking away at his laptop.

He crossed the room in three strides and reached for the gun in his duffel.

“No point, Moose,” Crowley said. “A gun won’t kill me and I know for a fact your brother has the nifty knife.”

Sam leveled the gun at him. “Might not kill you, but it will hurt.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Hurt? Really, you’re forgetting one vital part of my essential make-up. You shoot me, I’ll thank you for the tickle and ask you to do it again.”

Sam forced back a shudder of revulsion with effort.

Crowley chuckled. “Am I making you uncomfortable, Moose?”

“What do you want?” Sam asked through gritted teeth.

“I see you’ve been ousted from your homeland, as it was, and I can only guess big brother is getting precious again. So, tell me, what did you do?”

Sam turned away. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Crowley. What happened between me and Dean is none of your business.”

“Oh… it was _him_ wasn’t it. Big brother screwed up and you’re the one that’s getting precious. I like it. Nice turnaround from the norm. So, what did _he_ do?”

“You really think I'm going to tell you?” Sam asked sardonically. “In case you missed the memo, we’re not BFFs. You’re a demon. I’m a hunter.”

Crowley clapped his hands over his chest. “You’re hurting me. You really are. I’ve been good to you.”

“You’ve been good to yourself.”

“I helped you save the world!”

“You only helped us because it served your interests. The apocalypse is over, and now we don’t need to make nice anymore. Now, tell me what you’re doing here or leave. I’d prefer the latter but I know how much you like the sound of your own voice.”

Crowley looked wounded for a moment and then he grinned. “I come with a proposal. A way to get us both what we want.”

“And what is it that I want?”

“A hunt,” Crowley said with satisfaction. “I’ve had my boys watching you for a while—nice job on the Kumiho by the way—and I know you’re not getting the good hit. We all know you’re a guy that needs a purpose in life, a reason to get up in the morning, and hunting, for you, is that reason.”

“Okay,” Sam said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Say I do want to hunt, what’s that got to do with you? Why would you help me.”

“Because I’m a natural philanthropist,” Crowley said. “I want to do you a…” He laughed. “Sorry, can’t keep a straight face while I say it. I want your help because it suits me. Have you ever heard of an alpha?”

“No,” Sam said carelessly.

“It’s the first of its kind. Alpha Vampire. Alpha werewolf. You get the idea. I want to… meet an alpha.”

“Why?”

“None of your business. Suffice to say it’s important to me. C’mon, Moose, it’ll make a hell of a hunt. I’ll fix you up with all the assistants you could want.”

“Demons.”

“Like you’ve never worked with a demon before. You and Ruby made quite the team as I recall.”

Sam raised the gun again and Crowley opened his arms, presenting a tempting target.

“I’m doing nothing for you, Crowley,” Sam said through clenched teeth.

“Not even if it will save your dear old dad?”

Sam frowned. “You can’t pull that crap. I saw my father claw his way out of Hell. He’s in Heaven now. Way beyond your grasp.”

“True,” Crowley said unconcernedly. “I wasn’t talking about Papa Winchester though. I meant your other dad. Trucker crap, misery attitude, liking for rotgut whiskey. Ringing any bells?”

“What’s Bobby got to do with anything?” Sam asked.

Crowley sighed, as if disappointed in Sam. “Really, you Winchesters have appalling memories. Bobby has everything to do with this, as I own his soul.”

Sam stiffened. “You said…”

“I know what I _said._ But things didn’t exactly go as planned. I said I’d make every effort to return his soul, and I did, kinda. But it occurred to me that holding Bobby’s soul might be advantageous, and I was right. I need you, and you need to save your other daddy.”

Sam’s mind was reeling. Why hadn’t Bobby said something if his soul was still under contract? Did he even know?

“So you want me to work with you in exchange for Bobby’s contract,” Sam said.

“Yes. Like I said, it’s a win-win. I get what I want, you get what you want, and Bobby gets his slate wiped.”

Sam shrugged. “I guess your demons didn’t give you the full skinny when they were reporting on me. I didn’t just leave Dean behind, I left Bobby, too. So, if you need someone to pick up your dry cleaning or whatever, you should go see them. I’m not who you want.”

Crowley gaped at him. “You honestly expect me to believe you’re going to let Bobby go to hell because of some schoolyard argument you had?”

Sam shrugged. “Believe me or not, I don’t care. But you’re not getting anything out of me. I’m not working for you Crowley. I’d rather die.”

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, sizing him up and then he shrugged. “Fair enough. Far be it from me to force you to do something you don’t want. I’ll find some other hunter. Will you take some advice though, Moose?”

“No.”

Crowley continued as if he hadn’t heard him, which was no less than Sam expected. “Make nice with your brother and Bobby. You’re miserable. They’re miserable. Why not be miserable together?”

“I’m not miserable.”

“Sure you’re not. What happened to you, Sam? You used to be able to lie better than that.”

“Leave,” Sam said tonelessly.

Crowley pressed a hand to his forehead. “Why do I bother?”

Sam had no inclination to answer him, not that Crowley gave him a chance before disappearing. Sam looked around the room, making sure he was gone, and then he sat down at the table and slumped over, resting his head on his arms.

Despite what he had said to Crowley, he was reeling at the news Bobby was Hellbound and he knew he had to do something about it. He knew Hell, and he had no desire for Bobby to know it too. He owed the man better than that, no matter what had happened recently. He knew he had to do something, and he couldn’t do it alone. Without Ruby’s knife, he had no weapon that could kill the demon, and even if he did, there was no guarantee that Bobby’s contract was held by Crowley. Lilith had held Dean’s deal, Crowley might have a new boss.

Sam spoke without looking up, his voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt. “Cas, I know you’ve got stuff to deal with, and it’s not life or death—not immediate death anyway—but I need help.”

He raised his head and looked up, there was no one there. He had been pretty vague and Castiel was fighting a war, but he was disappointed nonetheless. He could have used the company.

He pulled the laptop over to him and saw that Crowley had opened a dozen browser windows. With a few clicks he discerned that they were all articles and support groups for OCD. “I don’t have OCD,” Sam grumbled to himself. Hunting wasn’t a compulsion, it was a way of life.

The hours stretched on and Castiel didn’t arrive. Sam worried about him, but none of the angel voices sounded upset or jubilant as he would expect if something had happened to him, so he didn’t worry overly. It was more likely that Castiel was merely caught up in battle and wasn’t free to come. While he didn’t worry about Castiel, he couldn’t prevent himself from worrying about Bobby. He had time on the clock, it hadn’t been a year yet and Bobby had ten, unless he’d been stiffed like Dean had. Was it possible that he only had months left? And even if he didn’t, anything could happen to him. Every hunter knew when they took on a job that it could be their last…

Sam felt sick. What was Bobby thinking hiding this from them? Did Dean even know? Were they working on a way to break Bobby’s deal now? Did they need Sam’s help? His anger at the way things had gone between them seemed petty now, when Bobby was facing Hell. He’d always known he couldn’t stay away forever, but he’d wanted to go back on his own terms. When he was ready.

xXx

Castiel didn’t arrive until noon the next day. Sam was at the table, flipping through news pages on his laptop and finding nothing remotely hopeful for a hunt, not that he could take it anyway. It was just a way to kill time.

He came with the usual soft fluttering sound. “Sam.”

“Cas, man, it’s good to see you.”

Castiel smiled slightly. “Are you okay. You sounded upset?”

“Yeah, I’m…” He sighed. “Royally screwed.”

Castiel’s ready smile faded and he looked concerned. “What’s happened?”

“Bobby happened. Or Crowley did. The two are kinda intertwined. And Bobby didn’t tell us, which I don’t understand. How are we supposed to help him if he doesn’t even—“

“Calm down,” Castiel instructed, speaking over Sam’s rapid speech. “Tell me what happened?”

Sam took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. “Crowley came here. He said Bobby’s deal is still on the slate. He’s Hellbound and he didn’t even tell us.”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “I thought the deal for Death was to be cancelled if we were victorious.”

“Yeah, so did I. Apparently not though. And I don’t know what to do,” he said mournfully.

Castiel was silent for a long moment and then he smiled again. “I can help you, I think. I can try anyway.”

Sam was a little confused by Castiel’s hesitation. He didn’t think Castiel was referring to his lack of free time. “Try?”

Castiel nodded. “Things have changed, Sam. I have heard things. Crowley is no longer the King of Crossroads.”

Sam grinned. “Awesome. Did he get fired?”

“No, he was promoted in a way. He is now King of Hell.”

Sam’s heart seemed to fail him for a moment and he sucked in a breath. “King?”

“Yes. When Lilith was killed, it created a power vacuum in Hell. With Lucifer free to walk the earth, no one dared to attempt to fill that void. With Lucifer back in the cage, Crowley has stepped up to take control of the demons.”

“So when he was helping us, saying it was for his own protection…”

“He was lying,” Castiel said. “At least partially. Ultimately, Lucifer would have destroyed the demons too, and Crowley would have perished had he succeeded, but Crowley was also laying the groundwork for his own rise to power.”

“That bastard,” Sam snarled. It wasn’t like he’d ever trusted Crowley, in fact he’d wanted him dead, but the fact that he’d been using them to further his own means…

“Yes,” Castiel said. “He is a bastard.” The word sounded awkward on his tongue. “He is also powerful now.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Sam asked.

“I believe so. Your soul has strengthened me greatly. I believe if it were to come to a show of brute force, I could defeat him.”

“Does my soul really do that much?” Sam asked.

Castiel sat on the edge of the bed and laid his palms on his knees. “I don’t know that I can make you understand. A soul is… power. I took from you the least amount possible, and yet it has strengthened me beyond my imaginings. It is not why I took it, despite what your brother believes. I took it so that I would not lose you, but because of that I have been imbued with power. Souls are pure energy, the purest thing imaginable, and yours is so much more so because of who you are and because of who I am.”

“I don’t understand,” Sam admitted.

Castiel smiled slightly, as if he was holding some great, sweet secret. “No, I don’t suppose you do. Maybe you will in time.” His tone became businesslike. “Now, Crowley. I think it is better if we summon him somewhere isolated. I would prefer to do this alone, with you somewhere safe, but I can see already that is a fruitless wish.”

Sam grinned. “You’re right. I’m coming.”

Castiel nodded. “Very well. I shall retrieve the items needed for a summoning and then we can begin.”

xXx

Castiel watched Sam as he painted the last lines of the vast devil’s trap into the concrete floor of the factory. It was previously a meat packing plant, yet it had been abandoned for years. The capacious room would allow them to trap Crowley. Unless he arrived at the very far corners of the room, and Castiel doubted that, as Crowley liked to make an entrance, he would be trapped.

He would have preferred Sam not be there, but he conceded that Sam had the right to be there. It was for Bobby that they were doing this. Castiel hoped that this dedication to saving his surrogate father’s soul was a sign that Sam was softening towards the man and his brother. Sam made a great pretense of being happy and better off without them, but he couldn’t lie to Castiel. When they were close, he felt that yawning cavity in Sam that was the absence of his family. He couldn’t drown that feeling with hunting.

Sam straightened and tossed aside the paint can he’d been using. “We ready?” he asked.

Castiel looked at the table they’d set up with the candles and other ingredients needed for a summoning. “I believe so.”

Sam moved to the table and lit the seven candles. He cast Castiel a glance and then pulled his penknife out of his pocket and run it across his palm. The blood welled in the shallow wound and Sam made a fist over the bowl so his blood dripped down into it. He threw in a match and spoke the incantation, seeming only half aware of what he was doing as his eyes fixed on the blue-white light streaming from the wound on his hand.

“What the hell was that?” a rough voice asked. Crowley had arrived. He looked down and then his eyes skimmed across the floor, taking in the devil’s trap he had arrived in the center of.

“That was none of your concern,” Castiel said, cursing the fact that he had seen as much as he had. “We are not here to talk about Sam.”

“Not here to…” He shook his head. “I just saw the moose healing himself and we’re not going to talk about it? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Shut it, Crowley,” Sam snapped. “You’re trapped here on our terms, so you might want to stow it and pay attention for a change. We need to talk about Bobby.”

“No, we need to talk about you. Since when are you an angel?”

“He is not an angel,” Castiel said patiently. “That is impossible.”

“Sure as hell looked like it to me. I’ve seen grace in action, and that was grace that healed Moose’s hand. How does he…” He grinned. “You sneaky swine, Castiel. You gave him an angelic power-up, didn’t you? I thought it was just ‘cause you’re pissed at big brother, but it’s not is it? There’s grace in him, and maybe a little something missing too.”

Castiel saw Sam stiffen out of the corner of his eye and he spoke harshly. “We are not here to talk about Sam. We are here to talk about Bobby.”

Crowley sighed theatrically, though his eyes didn’t lose their greedy gleam as they watched Sam. “I’ve said all there is to be said about Bobby Singer. He’s mine. I own him. I brought him and paid good exchange. And there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. You might not have heard, but you’re looking at the new—“

“King of Hell,” Sam said in a bored tone. “We heard. We just don’t care.”

Crowley looked him up and down, a speculative look on his face. “Huh, definitely something missing. Got to say, Moose, I like the new you. If you would just change your thinking a little, we could do well together. My brains and your… God given brawn, we’d be packing away the alphas.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m doing nothing for you, Crowley.”

Crowley’s features twisted. “Then I am doing nothing for you either. Bobby remains mine and there’s not a damn thing you can… What are you doing.”

What Castiel was doing was tapping into the finite power of his grace and Sam’s soul and using it as raw energy. His eyes caught the bright gleam that began to seep from his vessel. Sam would have to be warned.

“Shut your eyes, Sam,” Castiel commanded. He snapped his gaze to Sam to see that not only had he closed his eyes he had covered them with his arm. Satisfied Sam was safe, he allowed the power to pour forth from him, aiming it all at Crowley.

“If you think that can— Okay!” Crowley bellowed, raising his hands in front of him. “I give. I cry uncle.”

Castiel drew the power back into himself and smiled. “You will free Bobby Singer from his contract. You will leave Sam alone. He has no desire to be a part of you plans.”

“Absolutely,” Crowley said quickly. “I’ll not ruffle a hair on his floppy little head.”

“And Bobby?”

“His contract is null and void. I’ll even do him the favor of keeping his mobility. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?” Crowley grinned. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get out of here.”

Castiel nodded. “You can go, but if you renege on any part of this bargain, I will find you again and I will destroy you.”

Crowley smiled eagerly enough, but Castiel could see the malevolence in his eyes. His was furious at his defeat. Castiel would have to be on guard from now on, as would Sam. His revenge would come eventually.

Sam moved to the edge of the devil’s trap and scraped the paint with his penknife.

“Oh, and Crowley,” Castiel said civilly. “You will keep what you know and suspect about Sam to yourself, too.”

It wouldn’t do to have others know about Sam holding Castiel’s grace. Angels on both sides would see it as an affront to their Father, and demons would use it for their own ends.

“Not a word shall pass my lips,” Crowley said, “I swear.”

Castiel was pleased to see that through his fury, he was still afraid, though his eyes still settled greedily on Sam. Castiel would have to take extra care to have Sam protected from now on. Perhaps with another angelic bodyguard when he could not be there in person.

Crowley disappeared, leaving the faint scent of sulfur behind, and Castiel exhaled a heavy sigh.

“So,” Castiel said, “Bobby is free from his deal.”

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly.

Castiel eyed him carefully. He had expected Sam to be exultant at their success, but he seemed unsettled. He was staring at the palm he had cut to summon Crowley, and his features were set.

Castiel closed the distance between them and laid a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sam said quickly. “You were great, and Bobby’s free, which is awesome, I was just thinking…”

“About?”

“What Crowley said about something missing. I never really thought about the soul aspect of it before. I figured the grace was a good thing because it came from a place of good, but my soul…”

Castiel realized he should have had this conversation with Sam a long time ago. He had failed the young man by not explaining it, and now Sam was worried. That was wrong.

“Sam,” he said patiently. “Crowley was wrong. The portion of soul I took into myself was the smallest part, so small you are unaffected.”

“But then how did Crowley know something was missing? And what do you mean affected?”

“He didn’t know, he guessed, correctly it is true, but a guess nonetheless, as for how you’d be affected…” Castiel sighed. “The soul is the essence of a person. All that they are is kept within the soul. When a person dies, it’s their soul that goes to Heaven. I took a part of that into myself, a part of who you are is in me, but it’s such a small part that you don’t notice the difference.”

“And if you’d taken more?”

Castiel didn’t want to answer that. It would scare Sam. Sam’s eyes searched him for answers though, and Castiel felt his desperation and confusion. He needed to know.

“Then you would be less that you are now,” he explained. “You would retain your memories and aspects of your personality, but you would be without a moral compass. You would not _feel_ things the way you do now. You would experience physical sensation but not emotions.” Sam looked horrified and he hurried to reassure him. “But that is not you, Sam. You are still yourself. The portion I took is the equivalent of you losing your appendix. It’s a part of you, but not a vital part.”

“But what about Dean and Bobby?” Sam asked. “I’ve been so pissed at them, and even though I knew they were worried and looking for me, I didn’t care. How do you know that’s not part of the soul thing?”

“You answered that question for yourself,” Castiel said with a smile. “You are angry at them. You would not be able to feel that without your soul. You are you, Sam.”

Sam nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Cas. Not just for the Crowley thing, for all of it. I owe you, again.”

“You are most welcome,” Castiel said, “again.”

He looked around the warehouse with its devil’s trap painted on the floor and table comprised of two planks of wood balanced on boxes and realized he didn’t want to be there anymore. It was the wrong place to have these discussions. Sam didn’t belong there. He belonged… on a beach, Castiel decided.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I guess we better. You should probably get back to Heaven.”

That was true. He had left Rachel in charge, but as she had proved in the past, she wasn’t a natural leader, as was obvious with her ill-advised rescue of him.

“What are you going to do now?” he asked.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I was thinking, I should probably go tell Bobby he’s off the hook. It’s the kind of news that should be shared.”

“I can have Inias tell them,” Castiel offered.

Sam was silent for a long time, seeming to consider carefully, and then he looked at Castiel and smiled. “No. I can do it. I think it’s probably time I went home.”

Castiel smiled, feeling some inner peace settle over him. He didn’t realize how much it had troubled him that Sam was alone until it came time for him to be returned.

“Would you like me to take you?” he asked.

“No. I’d like to drive. I need just a little more time.”

Time Castiel could understand. Together, they turned and walked out of the factory. Sam to return to his family, and Castiel to return to his war.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Chapter Seventeen_ **

 

As Sam drove through the city limits of Sioux Falls he felt a heavy weight settle on his chest. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. He forced himself on though, through the city and to the old town road where Bobby’s scrap yard was located. He was doing well, fighting the panic, until he reached the turnoff for Bobby’s house, and then his foot slammed down on the brake.

He wasn’t ready at all.

He leaned his head against the steering wheel for a moment and closed his eyes. He had to do this. Bobby needed to know he was free of Crowley, and yet…

Without conscious thought, he lifted his foot from the brake and moved it to the accelerator. It slammed down and the engine roared to life, driving him away from Bobby’s property.

He would do it, just not yet. When he’d said he needed more time, Castiel hadn’t argued, he’d agreed. If an angel said it was okay for him to take time… Another day wouldn’t hurt anyone.

When he’d turned and come back along Bobby’s road, he didn’t look at the wrought iron arch that held so much grim trepidation for him. He stared at the markers in the middle of the road instead.

He made his way to the Red Rock Inn on the outskirts of town. It was nicer than he and Dean usually sprung for, but it was only one night— _one_ night he reminded himself—and he was paying cash, so it wasn’t like he was stiffing anyone with a fake credit card.

The manager was a middle-aged, matronly looking woman, and she smiled at Sam as he checked in and asked what he was doing in the city.

“Just visiting family,” he said.

He wasn’t sure it was a lie. He might just be visiting. He wasn’t sure he could pick up the strings of his old life and return to being Dean’s younger brother, not if Dean didn’t think he was human. Bobby had said that they’d both said things they didn’t mean, but he may not be speaking for Dean. What if, after all this, Dean still didn’t think he was human? Could Sam be with him every day, fighting alongside him if Dean didn’t think he was still himself? He had too many questions, and no answers to be given until he could see Dean again.  

“That sounds nice,” the matronly woman said.

Sam smiled vaguely and took the keycard she offered. He felt her eyes on him as he left the office and made his way out to his room.

He was hungry but he didn’t venture out into town to get food. Occasionally, when they were staying with Bobby, they would go to town for food and groceries, and he didn’t want to bump into either Dean or Bobby before he was ready, before he’d had a chance to gird himself. Even if he did, what could he say? ‘ _Yeah, I came back to talk to you both, but it turns out I’m a coward, because I couldn’t make myself come to the house. But since we’re here, let’s talk. Do you still think I’m a freak?’_ That wasn’t fair, and he knew it, which was why he needed a little more time before seeing them. He had to get his grudge under control before talking with them.

He took off his shirt and toed off his boots and socks, then laid down on the king-sized bed.

“Cas,” he said softly. “I'm in room thirty-three of the Red Rock Inn, Sioux Falls.” He didn’t add anymore, no explanation for why he had come so close to his goal and had faltered. He could explain it to Castiel when he saw him next if he wanted to know. Maybe he would know already. Since hell, he seemed to understand Sam in a way he wasn’t even sure Dean did. Whether it was a byproduct of their bond of because of the time they spent together… there, he didn’t know or care all that much. It was a good thing and that was what mattered.

xXx

Sam wasn’t aware he’d fallen asleep until something woke him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but his eyes opened and he looked blearily around the room. “Cas?”

“No,” a female voice said. “He cannot come.”

All drowsiness deserting him, Sam swung his legs round so he was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at the newcomer.

She was young and attractive, dressed in a crisp black jacket and skirt. She was smiling, but there was something off about it. As if she was angry but determined to hide it. There was something about the way her eyes lingered on Sam that made him wish he was fully dressed.

“Is he okay?” he asked.

“Yes. He is well, just occupied. My name is Hester. Castiel has asked me to watch over you. Be your guardian as it were.”

Sam laughed lightly. It was one thing to be sharing soul and grace with an angel, that was Cas, but to have this stranger announce that she was his guardian was a little too weird. It wasn’t that long ago he was the ‘boy with the demon blood’ and ‘the abomination’, how was it possible that he now had Heaven’s protection?

“Do I need a guardian?” he asked.

She smiled tightly. “You possess something of great value. It is only right that you be protected.”

Sam frowned. He didn’t know Castiel had told any of the other angels about them being bound. He’d never imagined he would. If Lucifer and Michael’s reactions were anything to go by, it wasn’t likely that they’d be commending him on his bravery. Just because Castiel and maybe Inias could see past what Sam had been and done to see him as a good person, it didn’t mean they all could.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lied.

Her features hardened, and Sam saw a flicker of anger in her eyes. He didn’t know what was happening or why, but he had a feeling he was in trouble. He feigned sleepiness, rubbing his eyes and yawning, and got to his feet. His impulse was to race across the room but he made himself plod over to the dresser where he’d left his duffel.

She started talking before he was even halfway across the room.

“You know, I thought Castiel could fall no further than he did the last two years,” she said conversationally. “Opposing the plan and siding with the humans. And then, after God touched him and gave him life again, he was supposed to be our great lieutenant. He would stand at Raphael’s right hand when the end of days came, but again, he disappointed us. He refused to bow to Raphael. And then he disappeared, and we all believed he had gone into hiding. Then Rachel came to me and asked for help in saving him. I lined up at the portal and dove into hell, risking my life and liberty for the cause. My family were lost, trapped in that place, to give him his freedom! And this is how he repays us!”

Sam rifled through his bag, pulling out a knife and running it across his palm. He hoped he would have time to paint the sigil before the grace healed him, but if not he would cut again. He began to daub the blood on the wall and she laughed.

“Really, you think you can banish me?”

She grabbed his shoulder and threw him back on the bed. She climbed on top of him, her knees planted on either side of his chest, and gripped his throat, stifling any words that Sam might have been able to summon.

“I’m still talking, and you, abomination that you are, will listen. I have earned the right to have my say. I have spied and kept my true dedication secret, and for once I will be heard!” Her voice rose to a shriek by the end and then she took a calming breath. “The demon came and told us that he gave you his _grace!_ The defining feature of an angel resides against your soul, so closely bound that we cannot hope to separate them and return him to what he once was. There is only one thing to be done now… Virgil!”

A brutal looking man appeared. He took in Sam pinned on the bed and smiled grimly. “Well done, Hester. Raphael will be most pleased.”

Hester beamed and he cast her a fleeting smile before turning his attention to Sam. “My name is Virgil. I am the keeper of Heaven’s armory.”

Sam still couldn’t talk, Hester was still crushing his throat, but Virgil didn’t seem to need him to speak to know what he was thinking.

“Castiel cannot come. He is at present entrenched in battle with half of Raphael’s forces. The other half are in position.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a snub-nosed revolver. “This is not a heavenly weapon. It’s purely human, but it will suffice to meet our needs now.

Sam’s eyes were wide as he watched Virgil hand the gun to Hester. He was going to die, again, he knew it, and though he knew that would not be the end for him, he was afraid.

Hester rested the muzzle against his chest, just above his right nipple. “Will this do?” she asked, turning slightly.

Virgil peered over her shoulder and smiled. “Yes. That will do wonderfully.”

It would be a short, painful death, Sam knew. It would devastate his lung and he would drown in his own blood. It would he horrific, but it still would not be the end. The grace would bring him back.

Hester looked down at Sam and grinned beatifically. “Goodbye, Sam Winchester.”

She released her grip on his throat and he sucked in a breath, preparing to shout, but that was when she pulled the trigger.

Pain beyond imagining rocked through him. It was worse even than the blades of Hell because it was so _real_. He drew a gurgling breath and the pain gave way to panic. He couldn’t breathe. He felt warm blood pooling around his chest, and he knew that he was going to die like this, lying in his own blood, and then maybe the angels would be appeased.

He was wrong though. He saw the light forming in his dimming eyes over his chest, and he knew the grace was working to save him, but something else was happening. too.

Hester was climbing off of him and Virgil was bowing over him. He pressed his fingertips against Sam’s chest, below the wound, and then Sam felt them moving, driving into him, through skin and muscle and bone. He could _feel_ Virgil’s hands scrambling around in his chest, reaching for something, and then they were pulling out and there was more light.

And then there was nothing.


	18. Chapter 18

Sheriff Jody Mills was lucky, she liked her job. There were plenty of people in the world that dreaded going to work in the morning, but not her. She looked forward to each day with all encompassing satisfaction. The job was her life; she had nothing else left. She thought it was an honorable vocation. Though it wasn’t the only one. There was another that held more honor for her, and the saddest part was that those people never received the adulation they deserved.

They were hunters.

She had been oblivious to their world until a year ago when the dead started rising in Sioux Falls. That had been a mind altering night; her entire world view had changed. Bobby Singer, a man she’d thought of as a public menace until then with his drunkenness and disregard for the law, was a hero. Between him and his friends, lives had been saved, though not the ones Jody needed to be saved; it was too late for them.

It was a day like any other when she arrived at the PD office, her domain, and swung open the door. She’d been on the early shift the day before, and so she’d missed the high jinks of Sioux Falls on a Friday night.

Dave, one of her deputies, greeted her with a mug of coffee held out and she smiled her thanks. She sat down on the edge of a desk and sipped at the tepid brew. “So, what did I miss?”

“One in the drunk tank,” he began.

“Singer?” In the past, if Jody had found Bobby intoxicated and rowdy, she would have been more than happy to toss him into the cell for the night to sleep it off. Now, she would give him a ride home. She figured there were few advantages to being a hunter, so the least she could do was help him out where she could.

“Nah, Digger again.”

Jody nodded. Digger Wells was a pain in the ass and he hadn’t done any lifesaving as far as Jody knew, so he got no free passes. “Anything else?”

“A speeder on Old Town Road.”

“Singer?”

“No, some kid in a busted down Dodge Charger. The camera caught him, but we haven’t chased it up.”

“Because?”

Dave crossed his arms over his chest. “Because the guy’s dead.”

Jody’s attention, which had been lagging, tautened. “Care to explain that to me?”

“Okay, we got a call last night from Margo at the Red Rock around eleven-thirty. She heard shots fired.”

Jody gave him an exasperated look. “And you waited till now to tell me because…”

“Dramatic tension?” He shrugged helplessly in the face of her annoyance. He wasn’t a bad person, but he liked the drama a little too much for Jody’s liking.

She sighed. “What happened?”

“Like I said, we got the call, and me and Booker went down there to check it out. And here’s where the weird stuff starts. She knew which room it was, though she’d been in the office at the time. She directed us up straight to room thirty-three and gave us the key. Poor old girl was shaking like a leaf. So, we go to the room, knock on the door, and there was no answer. We looked through the window, and saw him lying on the bed. Blood everywhere.”

Jody twirled her hand impatiently. “Yes.”

“There was no one else there, so we went in. And here’s the weird again. The door was locked tight. It’s only ‘cause we had the key that we got in. Booker checked the body while I stood guard. He was dead, and there was blood _everywhere_ , but here’s the kicker, we’ve no idea what killed him.”

Jody’s brow furrowed with confusion. “I thought you said shots fired.”

“Well, shot, just the one, and there was, but the guy didn’t have a scratch on him. And there’s this.” He pulled out a manila folder from the desk and handed it over.

Jody took it and flipped it open. There was a photograph of blood on the wall, an almost finished circle. It looked as though someone had daubed in with a large brush or maybe a hand.

“Weird, right?”

“Yeah," Jody said softly. “It’s definitely weird.” She was thinking there was something odd, as in Bobby Singer odd, happening. She would have to go by and see him, but first she had to take care of the basics.

“Do we have an ID for the victim?”

Dave shook his head. “He’s a John Doe for now. He’s with Stephenson at the General.”

Jody tucked the folder under her arm. “Okay, I’ll go see Stephenson, find out what he can tell me. You hold the fort.”

“Can do, boss,” he said cheerfully.

She waved as the door swung closed behind her and headed to the cruiser.

It was only a ten minute drive to Sioux Falls General and soon Jody was pulling into the parking lot and cutting the engine. She saw various familiar faces as she made her way along the halls of the hospital to the basement where the morgue was housed. She didn’t stop to talk though. It wasn’t the time. She had a deceased John Doe to uncover.

Phil Stephenson was a good man that liked his job. He was competent and respectful, and Jody counted him among her friends. Unfortunately, their paths rarely crossed under good circumstances.

When he caught sight of Jody at the door, he came forward with a hand extended to shake.

“Sheriff,” he said happily. “You here for our mystery man?”

“Yes. I just heard. What can you tell me?”

“Not a lot yet,” he said. “I’ve not had a chance to check out his inner workings, but give me a couple of hours and I’ll have an answer for you. You wanna look?”

In the center of the room was a body covered with a white sheet. Without waiting for her to answer, he pulled back the sheet and exposed the face.

Jody’s vision swam and there was buzzing in her ears. She knew that face. She knew that man. His skin was waxy and pale, whereas last time his cheeks had been flushed with blood as adrenaline worked through his veins, but it was definitely him. You didn’t forget the face of the man that had killed your son, no matter what the circumstances.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen the body of someone she knew. She’d scraped kids off of the road that she’d known since they were in kindergarten. She’d seen her own husband eaten by her son for god’s sake. So why was she feeling like this? Why did the sight of his dead face make her feel sick to her stomach?

The buzzing in her ears quieted and she caught the end of what Phil was saying.

“…or I can do it now. What do you think?”

“Don’t touch him,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“I said don’t touch him.” Her voice echoed off the walls now.

“Jody, are you okay?” he asked, coming forward and laying a hand on her arm. She started at the contact.

“I know him,” she said. “And you can’t…” She raked her hands over her face. “Don’t touch him yet.”

“Okay,” he said gently. “You want some water.”

She shook her head. “No, I have to go. I have to tell his family.”

He nodded. “You want me to drive you? You don’t look like you’re ready to get behind a wheel.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said in a dead voice. “Don’t worry.”

She felt his eyes on her as she walked to the door and swung it open. As she crossed the threshold she took in the long form on the table again. It was definitely him.

It was Sam Winchester.

She wasn’t ready to get behind a wheel. She knew that as soon as she started the engine. She wasn’t just shaky from the shock but she was dreading what came next. She would have to go to Bobby and tell him Sam was dead. She’d heard enough of his drunken ramblings to know what the Winchester boys meant to him. Only a few months ago she’d driven him home to the accompaniment of his continued proclamations that they were heroes that had saved the world. She didn’t know whether that was just the drink talking, but she doubted it after what she’d seen them do.

How was she supposed to tell him Sam was dead?

She waited ten minutes, with her arms draped over the steering wheel before she felt ready to move, and then she headed out of the parking lot and directed the car to the north of town. She drove down Old Town Road and onto Bobby’s land. She weaved the cruiser through the junkers and stopped outside the house.

This was the part of the job she hated most of all, and she didn’t feel remotely ready to do it to someone she cared about. She moved slowly as she climbed out of the car and made her way to the door, knowing that every second longer she took it was another second of peace for Bobby. Peace that she was about to shatter.

She knocked and waited for a moment before she heard footsteps beyond the door and then it swung open to reveal Bobby.

“Sheriff,” he said, surprised. “What can I do for you?”

She took off her hat and held it against her chest. “Can I come in?”

He nodded, looking worried, and stepped back so she could enter. She walked through into the kitchen and then paused. Bobby wasn’t alone. Dean was standing against the counter with a mug of coffee in hand. Strewn across the table was the debris of breakfast.

“Sheriff Mills, right?” he said happily. “What can we do for you? It’s not another zombie invasion, is it? ‘Cause Bobby made pancakes and… What’s wrong?”

“Perhaps you should sit down,” she said.

Dean shook his head. “Is it more zombies?”

“No, there’s no zombies this time, Dean,” she said gently.

“Then what is it?” Bobby asked.

She took a deep breath. “It’s about Sam.”

Bobby groaned quietly and hid his face in his hands. Dean didn’t look upset though, he looked a little concerned, but his smile didn’t fade all the way.

“You got him in the drunk tank? I’ve told him a hundred times that peach schnapps is not his friend, but does he listen?”

“I'm so sorry, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. “He’s okay, right?”

“He was found at the Red Rock Inn.”

“So he’s hurt,” Dean said, nodding. “But he’s okay.”

“He died, Dean.” She didn’t want to have to say it. Sometimes she didn’t need to. The look on her face was enough, but Dean was in denial.

Dean shook his head. “No he’s not. He can’t be!”

“I saw him,” Jody said. “He’s in the General morgue.”

Dean laughed. “Man, he’s gonna be pissed.”

“Dean,” Bobby said gently, laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Dean shrugged him off and stepped away. “He’s fine, Bobby. You know he is. He’s gonna be pissed as all hell when he wakes up in a body bag, but he’s fine.”

“When did it happen?” Bobby asked with an intensity in his eyes that made the question loaded with meaning.

“Last night. Eleven-thirty.”

“And when did you see him?”

“I just came from the morgue,” she said apologetically.

Bobby shook his head desperately, as if that could take back the words. “It’s too long, Dean,” he said mournfully.

“No! No, it’s not. We don’t know how this works. Maybe it takes a little longer sometimes. He’s fine, Bobby. He’s going to be fine.”

“I can take you to see him,” Jody offered. She thought that Dean perhaps needed to see Sam to make it real.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “We should be there. This is going to take some explaining.”

Jody didn’t know what he meant but she guessed she was missing something important. Dean seemed to think Sam was just going to wake up, which was a wonderful thought, but she doubted it. He had been gone when she saw him. There was no sense of lingering spirit she’d felt sometimes before around a body.

They went out to the cars. She took her cruiser and Bobby and Dean piled into a sleek, black, classic car. Bobby seemed to be moving as if in a haze, but Dean was still smiling as he gunned the engine and gestured her out ahead of him.

They followed her along the streets to the hospital and then along the halls to the morgue. She paused outside the door and took a deep girding breath, trying to prepare herself. Dean and Bobby would need her to be the calm one.

She pushed it open and walked inside.

“Jody,” Phil said. “You okay?”

She nodded. “This is Dean and Bobby, they’re his family.” She gestured vaguely at the covered corpse. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone?”

“Of course not.” He took off his white coat and hung it on a peg by the door. “I’ll go get some coffee.”

Jody smiled her thanks and waited for him to leave before speaking again. “Would you like me to leave, too?”

Bobby shook his head. “No, you can stay.”

He plodded across the room and ran a hand over the sheet covering Sam’s arm. Dean was still standing at the door. He was still smiling slightly, but now it looked forced and tense, as if he was playing a part.

“Come on, Dean,” Bobby said gently.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, let’s get this over with.”

He moved into the room and stood beside the table where Sam lay. Bobby gripped the hem of the sheet and tugged it back slowly, revealing Sam.

Dean took a step back and sucked in a breath. Bobby stared down at the corpse and Jody saw a tear track down his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Jody said again. They didn’t seem to hear her. Their focus was on the body.

“Dean,” Bobby said gently. “Look at him. It’s not like last time.”

“We don’t know that,” Dean said brutally. “We didn’t see what he looked like before… He’s going to be fine.”

Bobby bowed his hand and laid a hand on Sam’s bare shoulder. “I don’t think he is.”

Dean shook his head and turned away. “Castiel!” he said loudly. “Come on down. We’re in the morgue of Sioux Falls General, and we need you.” He paused for a moment then raised his voice to a shout, his voice breaking on the last word. “It’s about _Sam_!”

There was a sound like sheets fluttering on a line and then a man appeared. Jody blinked twice, sure she was seeing things, but the man stayed stubbornly there. He was dressed in a black suit and beige trench-coat. His appearance registered, but it was his face that held her attention. He didn’t looked sad or upset, he looked confused.

“What happened here?”

“We don’t know,” Bobby said in a broken voice. “He was found in a motel in town…” He swallowed thickly. “Last night.”

The man, Castiel, frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do we,” Dean said. “Why hasn’t the grace fixed him up?”

Castiel shook his head, looking bewildered. “I don’t know. It should have. He should not be like this.” There was anger in his tone now. “This shouldn’t be possible.”

“Never mind that,” Dean said. “Fix him.”

“Of course,” Castiel said. He laid a hand on Sam’s chest and took a deep breath. His brow furrowed with concentration, and his eyes squeezed shut. After a long moment in which not even Jody disturbed the silence with breathing, Cas opened his eyes again. His confusion was gone, he sounded almost broken when he spoke. “I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean can’t?” Dean asked angrily. “You pulled me out. You brought Bobby back. Fix him!”

Cas laid his hand on Sam’s chest again, palm up, and then Jody saw the strangest thing she’d ever seen in her life, including the week of the zombies. He was literally shoving his hand into Sam’s chest. His fingers then his wrist disappeared into Sam. Bright light spilled forth, but Jody couldn’t close her eyes, she was too transfixed by what she was seeing.

Castiel ripped his arm free and stepped back, panting. “It’s gone!”

“What’s gone?” Dean asked. “What do you mean?”

“His soul. My grace. They’re both gone. He’s…” He looked down at Sam with stricken eyes. “He’s dead.”

“No! No, no, no, no, no!” Dean was shouting by the end. “He’s not. Bring him back. “

“I can’t!” Castiel roared, and the sound hurt Jody’s ears the way a whistle would if it’s too high pitched.

Castiel turned away from Sam and strode across the room. There were counters of tools and jars and equipment, and Cas raked his hand along, sending them all flying to the floor. He upended a trolley of metal instruments and they fell with a clatter.

“Cas, please,” Dean said desperately.

“Please!” Castiel shouted. “I cannot do it! He is gone! There is nothing there. No soul. No grace. I cannot call him back as I don’t know where he is!”

Jody covered her ears, the sound was so loud and piercing. Dean and Bobby did the same, and they all watched as Castiel stormed around the room, his feet crunching on broken glass and kicking aside the instruments. Jody had never seen rage like it, had not felt anything close to it, and she genuinely feared for her life until suddenly, Castiel’s anger seemed to seep from him.

He moved back to stand by Sam. He laid a hand on Sam’s chest and spoke in a voice that was so full of desperate sadness that Jody felt tears pooling in her eyes.

“He’s gone.”


	19. Chapter 19

**_Chapter Twenty_ **

 

Dean was like a man in a haze and Bobby didn’t feel much better. Sam was gone. There was a hole where he had been that nothing could fill, and the worst part was that Bobby didn’t know why. Sam wasn’t supposed to be able to die. How could he be gone?

Castiel stood over Sam with his hand on his chest for a long time, not speaking, not even seeming to breathe.

The only one among them that seemed capable of independent movement and thought was Jody. She moved around the room, picking up the things Castiel had strewn across the floor in his rage and gathering the broken glass.

“I hate to say it, guys,” she said after a long time had passed, “but there’s things we need to talk about. I don’t understand even half of what’s happened here but I know Phil is going to be back soon and there’s things we need to do…” she paused, “for Sam.”

Bobby knew what she meant. His body would have to be dealt with.

“Dean,” he said softly. “What are we going to do?”

Though he addressed the question to Dean, it was Castiel’s attention that he drew. He turned away from Sam and glared at Bobby. “You’re not to touch him. None of you.”

“Cas, we can’t leave him like this,” Bobby said. “He won’t… last.” Seeing Sam’s body was awful, but to imagine his body being left to rot was so much worse. Bobby couldn’t bear it.

“You are talking about decomposition,” Castiel said in that aggravating dry tone.

Dean retched and turned away with a hand over his mouth.

“Yes,” Bobby said. “We have to take care of him. It’s the last thing we can do for him.” It was the last kindness they could show him.

Castiel shook his head. “You’re wrong. The last thing we can do for him is not give up like cowards. You humans have the technology to maintain him, don’t you?”

Jody nodded. “For a time.”

“Then I shall work fast.”

“What do you mean?” Bobby asked,

“Sam’s soul is out there somewhere,” Castiel said. “His soul, entwined with my grace, cannot perish. I will find him and I will save him.”

Dean looked up and there was something in his eyes that tore at Bobby’s heart like a hook. It was fear and hope combined in one awful gleam.

“You can do that?” he asked.

Castiel nodded and turned back to Sam. He cupped his face in his hands and bowed his head. He whispered something in Sam’s ear and then vanished with the usual soft fluttering sound.

Jody stared at the place he had been with a look of wonder. “Is he saying… Does he mean… What just happened?” she asked in breathy voice.

“That’s Castiel,” Bobby said. “He’s an angel. And yeah, he means he’s going to save Sam.”

At least Bobby hoped he was.

xXx

Jody arranged for Sam to be kept in the morgue with the explanation that he was vital in an important case, and by pulling in a favor from the coroner, she arranged that his body be left alone. He wouldn’t be defiled by an autopsy.

Dean stayed silent through all the explanations and arrangements. His only reaction came when Sam’s body was returned to the fridge. Then he had fisted away his tears and turned his attention to the sheriff. “I need to see where it… happened.”

She nodded. “I can take you there.”

They made their way out to the where they’d left the cars. Bobby offered to travel to the motel with Jody in the cruiser, aware of the connotations the shotgun seat would hold for Dean, but the younger man shook his head and said it didn’t matter anymore. He was scaring Bobby. He’d seen Dean in the throes of grief before, and it had been an all consuming fury that made him lash out at everyone and everything in his path. He wasn’t angry now, he was empty, as if he was the one that was dead, but was forced to continue in a life that had no meaning for him anymore.  

Neither of them spoke as they followed Jody across town to the motel. Bobby was thinking of Sam and what had happened to him. What was Sam doing there in the first place? Why would he have come back to Sioux Falls without coming to them? Was he working a case? Could he still be so mad at them both that he would come this close and not see them? He was overwhelmed with questions and the only one that could answer them was gone.

When they came to the motel, Jody climbed out of her cruiser and waited by the office for them. Bobby knew Margo in passing but they weren’t friends. He didn’t have many in town. All his real friends were hunters, those of them that were left.

“I’ll need to you to let me lead,” Jody said when he and Dean reached her. “Too many people know Bobby and you’ve been seen around town often enough that we can’t pass you off as lawmen, Dean.”

“We need to know what he was doing here,” Bobby said. “And we need a look around his room.”

She nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Dean glanced at Bobby and he saw the determination there. They would get their answers and their look around the room, no matter what it took. They would take what they wanted if it wasn’t offered. This was Sam they were talking about.

Jody pushed open the door to the office and they followed her in.

“Sheriff,” Margo Gaines fluttered nervously, “I thought you might come. And Bobby, too, and you…” She looked at Dean. “You’re his family, aren’t you?”

“This is Dean,” Jody said. “It was his brother that died.”

“You’re his family. I’m so sorry.”

Dean nodded mutely.

“What can you tell us?” Jody asked.

“He checked in late yesterday. He only wanted the one night, and he paid cash. I wondered, you know, because he looked so sad, but he said he was visiting family. There was such a weight on him, I knew family was the only thing that could help him. And then…” She sniffled. “I heard the gunshot and I knew, I just knew, it had to be him.”

“We need to look around his room,” Jody said.

Margo nodded and handed over a keycard. “I’ve not been in there. I couldn’t bear to see it.”

“I’ll have our team come and clear it up,” Jody said.

Margo nodded her thanks and they made their way outside again. Jody led them to the end of the block, to a door marked thirty-three, and swiped the card through the lock. The red light lit up and she eased it open slightly and then she paused. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“We have to,” Bobby said.

She opened the door the door and they followed her in. The scent of spilled blood was thick in the air, coppery. The bed had been stripped, presumably by the police investigators, but the mattress was still in place, and it was drenched crimson.

The stain held Bobby’s eyes. All that blood. Dean tapped his shoulder and pointed at the opposite wall. Bobby followed his gaze and saw the smeared blood on the wall in the shape of an unfinished circle.

“You got any idea what that’s about?” Jody asked.

“It looks,” Bobby said, swallowing hard, “like the start of a sigil.”

“Fucking angels,” Dean spat.

Bobby understood the fury in his tone, he felt it too. When it happened, whatever _it_ was, Sam had been trying to defend himself from those that he shouldn’t need defense from. Angels were supposed to be the good guys. Bobby had seen that disproved again and again this last couple years, but it still shocked him when it happened.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. “I know you can hear me. We’re in room thirty-three of the Red Rock Inn and there’s something here you need to see. C’mon, Cas, don’t fuck with me on this.”

There was a fluttering sound and Bobby looked in the direction it had come from, but it wasn’t Castiel, it was Inias.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked brutally.

“He cannot come,” Inias said.

Dean’s hands fisted at his sides. “He better be looking for Sam, ‘cause I swear to God, if he’s dicking around with Raphael now, I will light his ass with holy fire.”

“Of course he is looking for Sam,” Inias said calmly. “He has separated the forces to search. Half of the garrisons are taking vessels as we speak.“

“Good.” Dean nodded. “That’s good.”

“You know anything about that?” Bobby asked, pointing to the bloody smear on the wall.

Inias peered at the mark. “It looks like the start of a sigil.”

“Yeah, we figured that much out for ourselves, thanks, wing boy,” Dean said. “We wondered if you knew why Sam was preparing to banish an angel when he died?”

Inias shook his head. “No. I am sorry. I liked Sam, he was a good man with an openness that is rare in humans…”

Bobby wanted to correct Inias. To tell him Sam _is_ a good man, not was, but he couldn’t. Inias was right. Sam was a good man. Perhaps he would be again, if Castiel could find him and bring him back, but for now he was gone, and Bobby didn’t think he could bear it.

xXx

Castiel stormed through Heaven, bellowing for Rachel and Hester. They came, as did many more of his army, curious to see what had their leader losing his trademark calm for fury.

“What has happened?” Rachel asked at once. “Has Raphael…?”

“Sam is gone,” Castiel snarled. “He is dead.”

Hester took a step back. “But he can’t be.”

“He is. I have seen his body, and his _soul is gone,”_ he hissed the last words. “How can he be gone when I instructed you to watch over him?”

“Calm, Castiel,” Rachel said softly. “It is not Hester’s fault.”

Castiel stiffened. “Calm! Sam is dead!”

“I know, and I am sorry, but it is not Hester’s doing.”

“He was fine when I left him, Castiel,” Hester said tremulously. “I swear.”

“Why did you leave him?” Castiel asked. “You were supposed to protect him.”

“He didn’t want me there. He was angry. He accused us of spying on him. I tried to explain that we were there for his protection, but he started to banish me. I could not overpower his free will, so I came here to see you, but you were entrenched in battle at the time, and I couldn’t find you.”

It felt like a lifetime ago that he had stood alongside Rachel and his forces in a furious confrontation with Raphael’s. They had been victorious, and he had been exultant at his win when he’d heard Dean’s prayer. He’d known from the desperation that leaked into Dean’s tone that it was bad, but he’d never imagined it would be _that._ The image of Sam lying on that table, cold and abandoned by the soul that kept it more than meat in motion, came to him again and his whole form seemed to burn with the pain of it.

Sam was gone, taken, and he didn’t know what to do.

“Has he been brought here?” he asked hopefully. If Sam’s soul had been taken by a reaper, it should have been delivered to Heaven, though why a reaper would have been dispatched this time but not last was a mystery to him.

“I do not think so,” Rachel said. “No one came to us with the news.”

“Check,” Castiel said to Hester. “Start to make amends for your failure. Search his heaven and report back to me.”

“I will,” Hester said at once, and disappeared.

He heard a voice calling to him, demanding his return. “Cas! I know you can hear me. We’re in room thirty-three of the Red Rock Inn and there’s something here you need to see. C’mon, Cas, don’t fuck with me on this.”

He couldn’t go though. He couldn’t bear to see Dean and Bobby, to see the unveiled grief in their eyes, reminders of what he’d had and lost.

“Inias,” he said gently. “Go to them. I cannot. Find what they want and stay with them until I call you back. They are to be protected at any cost. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Castiel,” Inias said.

“What can I do?” Rachel asked.

Castiel didn’t know. That was the problem. He felt adrift and alone in his grief. He knew he had to find Sam, but he didn’t know where to start. If he wasn’t in Heaven… Where could he be?

“Have the troops search,” Castiel said bitingly. “Let them take vessels. Have them scour the earth. If there is any sign of Sam, I want to know immediately.”

“I will,” she said haltingly. “But… Raphael.”

“You think I care about him?” Castiel laughed mockingly. “Sam Winchester is dead!”

She stared at him for a moment and then she disappeared, followed by the amassed soldiers. Castiel was left alone.

An angel in its true form cannot cry. God did not grant them that freedom, as for an angel there was once no reason to grieve. They were the perfect beings God had created in a time before grief was even a concept. Castiel cursed it. He wanted to cry, to weep and wail for his loss, but he could not. He stayed still, like a statue and waited for someone to bring him news.

xXx

Sam was terrified. It was not a new concept to him, this fear, but for the first time in a long time he was feeling it alone. It wasn’t so bad to be scared when you were with someone else, but there was no one else there.

After he had been shot, there had been nothing until he opened his eyes, and he knew immediately where he was, though it looked different: Hell. There was no rack and no flames, but he was sure of his location nonetheless. Hell had a feel to it, as if the souls that suffered there left a taint in the air, and he could feel it now.

The ‘room’ he was in was not vast like the cage had been, it was smaller even than the small room he, Castiel and Adam had stayed in. If he was to lie on the floor his legs would have to stay bent. The walls were formed of bars, but rather than being metal or wood they seemed to be comprised of light, similar to the light he had seen when Castiel had carried him out of the cage. He didn’t test the bars or even touch them, he was sure that would end with pain or madness, and he knew that pain would come of its own accord sooner or later. That was what hell was.

While he waited, he stayed curled in a ball in the center of the room, hiding his face against his knees. He wasn’t idle, he was praying, but it felt futile. Before, when he’d called to Castiel or Inias, he had felt something in return, something that told him his prayers were being answered, but that was gone. The grace that had sustained him since his return from the cage was silent now. He could feel it there but there was no buzz. It was if this place was sapping its power. The hum of voices was still there, whispering to him, but there was no comfort.

The light of the bars blocked most everything else but outside his field of vision, he heard voices and laughter.

“He sent me to search the boy’s heaven,” a voice was saying.

“You’ve done well,” another, smoother, more powerful voice said. “You shall be rewarded when the time comes.”

“He’s useless without him.”

There was a low, throaty chuckle in response and then Sam saw the light of the bars bend and twist. It was as if a door was being carved out of them. There were three shapes in the doorway, and as Sam focused their forms came into view. It was Hester, the woman that had shot him, and two males. One was taller than the others, and the way the other two positioned around him made Sam sure he was the leader.

“Sam Winchester,” the powerful voice said. “My name is Raphael.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. What was Raphael doing here in Hell? Had there been some bargain made with Crowley, is that why Crowley had told him about Castiel and the grace?

“I see you’ve heard of me,” Raphael said with satisfaction. “That’s good. I do hate having to explain myself to lower beings, and they don’t come much lower than you, do they, Sam?”

Sam didn’t answer. Raphael was going to hurt him, that much he knew, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction while he could help it. Later, when the pain came, who knew what he would babble and scream? He had been stronger in the cage, but that was then. He didn’t feel strong anymore.

“This is Hester,” Raphael said, gesturing to the form on his right, and inexplicably, Sam saw the shape of the woman that had shot him appear. He understood. It was like the cage. He couldn’t see their true forms, he had seen Castiel’s and it had driven him into his own mind, so he saw what his mind could process. “And this is Thaddeus. He’s something of a… specialist.” The form bowed his head and Sam saw another familiar face appear, and though he knew this person to be dead, he saw Uriel’s broad form appear. Again, his mind was presenting him something to see rather than the nothingness that was really there.

He shuddered.

“We have some things to discuss with you, Sam,” Raphael said. “And we believe some motivation is in order. Hester, if you will.”

Hester came forward and gripped Sam’s upper arm and hauled him to his feet. He was dragged toward the door and through it.

A voice called out behind him, and Sam tried to turn, but he was already being dragged away.

“Don’t worry, Gadreel,” Thaddeus said, and Sam heard Uriel’s deep tones running through it. “It will be your turn again soon.”

Sam was dragged though a long passage of light and into a cavernous room. He hadn’t fought up to that point. He’d let them do what they wanted, but when he saw the rack in the center of the room, he bucked and tried to get away. It was useless though. He would have more success fighting the ocean. He was forced onto the rack and bound in place.

“Can you see it?” Hester asked in a disgusted tone.

Raphael chuckled. “Of course. It is wrapped so tightly about him, like a cancer.”

Sam didn’t know what they were talking about, but he didn’t have long to puzzle over it. Thaddeus was there, leaning over him and clutching a long, silver blade in his hand.

“I shall see if I can separate them,” he said.

“Do so carefully,” Raphael said. “I don’t want him to perish yet. There is so much opportunity for pleasure here.”

“I will,” Thaddeus said.

Then he laid the tip of the blade against Sam’s chest and started to push down.

A million heavens away, Castiel cried out in pain.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Chapter Twenty-One_ **

 

Like the cage, there was no way to gauge time in this part of Hell, but Sam knew he’d been there a long time. Unlike the cage, things in this Hell seemed to happen with a regularity that was almost military. He would be taken from his cell to the room with the rack and there Thaddeus would tear into him with precision. Then, just when Sam thought he could take it no more, he was freed from the rack and dragged back to his cell.

In the cage, he had suffered in silence, as there were people there to protect, but here was no one here, and he couldn’t stop himself screaming out in pain as they tore into him. Thaddeus seemed to like the sound. He always smiled in response to Sam’s cries.

One thing he never did was beg though. He kept that part of himself locked inside. He was Sam Winchester, John and Mary’s son, Dean’s brother. He would not shame them by begging for mercy from people that had none.

His thoughts often drifted to his brother. The fact he hadn’t been ready to see him before seemed laughable now. He would give almost anything to see him again, just for a moment, just long enough to tell him he was sorry for leaving. He wanted to tell Dean that it didn’t matter what had been said as long as Dean was okay. He didn’t care what his brother thought now, he could think Sam the furthest thing from human imaginable, as long as he knew Sam loved him.

After a particularly long and painful session on the rack, he was dragged back to the cell and tossed down onto the floor. He curled in on himself, fisting his hands in his hair. He waited until he was sure they were gone before allowing his tears their release. He sobbed, holding his knees to his chest, wishing he was anywhere but there.

“Sam? Your name is Sam, isn’t it?” a soft voice said.

Sam looked up. The voice seemed to be coming from the other side of the bars. He wondered for a moment if this was some trick, if Raphael or Thaddeus were playing with him, but instinct told him otherwise. The voice, soft though it was, spoke of suffering too.

He uncurled himself and crawled across the floor to the bars. He didn’t touch them, but for the first time he tried to look through them, to see what or who was on the other side.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m Sam.”

There was a soft sigh in response. “I have heard of you,” the voice said. “They used to speak of you often. Is it true that you defeated Lucifer?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “Once.”

“My name is Gadreel.”

“That’s an angel name,” Sam said in wonder.

“Yes, I am an angel.”

Sam sucked in a breath. How did an angel come to be in Hell? Had he done the same thing as Castiel, come to save someone but been trapped? How could demons trap an angel? It made no sense.

“What happened to you?” Sam asked.

“I was brought here long ago in return for a terrible crime. I failed my Father and family in the worst way imaginable, and this is my punishment.”

“Are there other angels here?” Sam asked.

“There used to be another. An angel called Anna. She was freed though. I have been alone a long time.”

Suspicion crept over Sam, sickening suspicion, and fresh tears began to fall. He’d been sure this was Hell, because of the pain and suffering, but what if it was… He couldn’t bear it.

“Gadreel,” Sam said, the words coming to him slowly. “Is this…? Are we…? Where are we?”

“This,” Gadreel said, “this is Heaven.”

It made sense, Gadreel’s presence and the mention of Anna, who he knew had been punished in Heaven, but it wasn’t supposed to be like that for Sam. Heaven was the reward for life. True it wasn’t everything he’d hoped it would be, but it was still Heaven. How could this place exist within the Heaven he had seen, where people enjoyed the very best parts of their lives. Here he was reliving the very worst parts of his own. It shouldn’t have changed anything. He was suffering wherever it was. But a secret part of him hoped to be rescued again. If it happened now, if he was freed from the place, he would never have that hope again.

Heaven had been ruined for him.

xXx

Dean was sitting at the kitchen table with a cold mug of coffee in front of him and an empty expression. He felt hollow. As if everything in him had been scooped out, leaving him as only half a man. He wished he couldn’t feel anything. It was painful to feel, to acknowledge what was missing, and he would have given anything for the relief of unconsciousness. But he couldn’t rest. He couldn’t even sleep properly. When he crashed in the early hours of the morning, it was to dive into nightmares. He would see Sam on that mortuary slab again and again, cold, grey, dead, as empty as Dean felt. And though he knew it wasn’t really his brother anymore, the part that made him a person was gone, he still hated to think of Sam alone in that morgue.

Inias was around somewhere, probably out in the yard watching the sun come up, and Bobby was upstairs. He was awake, Dean could hear him moving about, but he hadn’t come down yet. Dean was glad of it. It was bad enough to feel his own grief but to see it echoed in Bobby compounded it all. He thought about leaving, going it alone again, but he couldn’t. He needed to be here so when Sam got back he would be there. And Sam would get back. Castiel said he would save him, and Dean trusted him on this. Where Sam was concerned, he could trust no one else. The raw grief and anger Castiel had shown in the morgue was unlike anything Dean had ever seen before from the angel. He would find Sam or die trying.

He wanted to talk to Castiel, to get some answers about what had happened to Sam while they’d been apart, but all his prayers had gone unanswered.

Dean heard footsteps on the stairs and he raked a hand over his face, wiping away any tears that might have fallen; they seemed to creep out without him realizing these days.

At the same moment as Bobby came into the kitchen, the back door opened and Inias appeared.

“It is a new day,” he said solemnly.

A new day and another day gone. Sam had been lost two weeks now.

Bobby touched the coffee jug and pulled his hand away with a quiet sigh. It was cold now, Dean knew, he’d been drinking the stuff since only a couple hours after he’d gone to bed. He knew it wasn’t the denial of caffeine that was making Bobby sigh, it was the fact that through it he knew Dean had been up all night again. He once would have asked, but he was careful around Dean these days, wary of triggering an angry reaction. He emptied the dregs of the last brew and started a new one then sat down at the table opposite Dean.

“Any news?” Bobby asked Inias.

Inias looked apologetic. “None good. The host is searching the earth still, but there are no signs.”

“What exactly are they looking for?” Bobby asked. “I mean…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How will they know it’s him if they found him?”

“Because of the grace. Sam’s soul and Castiel’s grace are intertwined now like two colors of wool rolled together. It would be obvious to an angel that it was Sam. Also,” he smiled slightly, “there is not a wealth of souls separated from their bodies within the world. We haven’t found Sam, nor have we found anyone else. Souls that are unbound from their bodies belong in Heaven and Hell.”

That was Dean’s worst fear, that Sam would have been taken to Hell again. He wasn’t in Heaven. Castiel’s army had searched, so he must be on Earth or in the pit.

“And Raphael?” Bobby asked.

“He has not acted,” Inias said. “We thought for sure he would, with our army spread across the globe in the search, but he hasn’t.”

It was only a vaguely interesting side note for Dean that Raphael hadn’t acted to opening the cage again. He didn’t have emotion to spare for anything but Sam. He had once told Bobby he’d given enough, paid enough, and he hadn’t been wrong, but this time he was truly done. Until Sam was found, the world could burn as far as he was concerned.

The coffee machine gurgled and Bobby poured two mugs, exchanging Dean’s cold one for fresh, then he sat down at the table.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said.

Dean looked up from his mug to stare into Bobby’s eyes, noticing the shadows circling them; Bobby wasn’t sleeping either. “What?” he asked in a cracked voice.

Bobby looked like he didn’t want to answer, as if he was scared his words would hurt Dean. “You got the rings back from the angels after they opened the cage, right?”

Dean nodded.

“Sam isn’t in the cage,” Inias said. “There is only one way to take a soul into that place.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “But I was thinking we could use them as leverage.”

Dean frowned. “Leverage for who?”

“Death.”

For the first time in two weeks, Dean felt something different to the gaping emptiness and pain; he felt hope. He hadn’t even thought of the horseman. Now Bobby said it, he realized how obvious it was. Death was… well, Death. If anyone would know what happened to Sam, it was him. Souls needed reapers, and Death was the boss.

“I’m not saying he’ll know for sure,” Bobby said carefully. “It’s just… he might.”

“He’ll know,” Dean said quickly. “He has to know. How do we get hold of him though?”

An idea occurred to Dean and he ran with it. He needed Death, and to get Death he needed a reaper. To get a reaper he needed to be dead. And luckily, he knew a man that could help. There was barely any risk either. Inias was their guard at the moment. If Doctor Robert couldn’t get him back, Inias could.

He outlined his plan for Bobby, barely noticing Bobby’s rising color and fisted hands. Let him be pissed, that was fine; this was going to get Sam back.

“I can’t guarantee I can bring you back,” Inias said quickly. “Sam’s soul was taken by we don’t know who. They could take you, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean said carelessly. “They could, but they might not.”

“You think I’m going to let you die just in the hopes that you get a friendly reaper and they hook you up with the boss?” Bobby said bitingly.

“Bobby, what else can we do?” Dean asked. “If this is what’ll get Sammy back…”

“It might not work,” Bobby said. “And before you come up with some crap about it being worth it, you might want to listen to me. I have another idea. Angels can see reapers, right? So how’s about we take Inias by the hospital and find us a reaper about to work.”

Inias cleared his throat. “I have, perhaps, a better plan that doesn’t involve anyone dying or lurking in a hospital waiting for a reaper to appear. There is a summoning ritual to call a reaper to us.”

Dean took a shaky breath. “What do we have to do?”

Inias looked pleased that he was able to offer some hope for a change. “There are things we will need, preparations to be made, and…”

“And?” Bobby pressed.

“Castiel. Summoning a reaper, attempting to speak to Death, it’s dangerous. I am not sure Castiel would allow me to involve you.”

“Allow? Castiel doesn’t allow me shit,” Dean said harshly.

“But he allows me,” Inias said. “He is my leader. I must seek advice before acting.”

Dean felt fury rage within him. If Castiel was going to stand in the way of this… He couldn’t let him. He needed Sam back. Period. If this was what was going to do it, it was going to happen, whether Castiel wanted it to or not.

“Fine,” Bobby said brutally. “Get Cas down here so we can talk.”

Inias nodded and closed his eyes.

“What are you…?” Dean started, but Bobby cut him off with a sharp look.

After a long moment, Inias opened his eyes again. “I was talking with Castiel. He is coming.”

“Well, he better shag ass or I’m doing it without him,” Dean said. Now he had something resembling a plan he wasn’t going to be delayed by Inias asking for permission, not if this was going to save Sam.

There was a fluttering sound and Castiel appeared. Dean’s first thought was that he must have come fresh from a fight to the death. His eyes raked his form for a sign of blood or injury, but there was none. He looked wrecked. His eyes were dull and lifeless and his whole form slumped. He had seen something like this before, but that had been his brother lying on a mortuary slab. Castiel looked like the angelic equivalent of a corpse.

“I am here,” he said a dead voice. “What do you need?”

“We think we’ve got a way to find Sam,” Dean said. “Or maybe to find out what happened to him. Bobby had an idea.”

Castiel looked intently at Bobby. “What is it?”

“Death,” Bobby said.

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, seeming to absorb the word. When they opened, they were filled with a fanatical gleam. “Of course. I did not think… I thought only our Father… But Death could know. He may even be able to find him. Bobby, I do not know how to thank you.”

Dean frowned. He was talking as if he was the only person that had a stake in this. As if he was the only one that cared. That was bull. No matter how they were bound or whatever it was, Sam was Dean’s brother first and foremost. Castiel didn’t have a claim on him.

“Let’s just see if it works,” Bobby said, though he looked a better than he had when he came down that morning, as if the hope of a plan had lessened his pain somewhat.

“Yes.” Castiel nodded energetically. “It will work. It has to work. Death will know, and if I know where he is, I can save him. Inias, please retrieve the items needed.”

Inias nodded and disappeared.

Dean had thought he had a hundred questions for Castiel when he saw him again, he had been collecting them for two weeks, but now the angel was in front of him, all he could say was, “Cas, are you okay?”

Castiel raised his face and though his eyes still held that fanatical gleam, he looked as wrecked as he had when he arrived. He didn’t answer Dean, but the look he gave him was enough.

After a few minutes, Inias returned, his arms laden with jars and small paper sacks. “I have everything we need,” he said.

Castiel took the items from him and started setting them out on the table. “I need candles and a bowl,” he said distractedly. “And someone will need to bleed.”

Bobby jumped to his feet and retrieved the bowl and candles while Dean drew a knife and cut across his palm. Castiel set the ingredients into the bowl and started chanting. Without looking up, he grabbed Dean’s wrist and held it over the bowl so the blood dripped down. Smoke began to rise, and Castiel looked up. “Show yourself.”

A woman appeared standing in the arch between the kitchen and library.

“Tessa,” Dean said.

She smiled slightly. “Dean.” She turned to Castiel. “Why have you summoned me, angel?”

“We need you,” Castiel said. “I want you to call Death. We must speak with him.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ve dragged me here so you can talk to the boss? Do you know how stupid that is? He’s my boss, not the other way round. I don’t get to call him anywhere. He calls us.”

“This is urgent,” Castiel said fervently. “I must speak with him.”

Tessa sighed. “This is about Sam, right? Yeah, we heard. The undying man died.” She turned to Dean. “I’m sorry for your loss, but there is nothing I can do.”

“You will bring him here now!” Castiel shouted, and Dean heard a hint of that piercing sound that he’d first heard in a fill-up joint in Illinois. It was his true voice bleeding through.

“No,” Tessa said. “I don’t answer to angels, and I don’t piss off the boss.”

“Please,” Dean said desperately. “We just need to speak to him.”

Tessa crossed her arms over her chest. “I can’t help. If he wants to talk to you, he’ll come. He knows about Sam, and if he wanted to help, he’d be here already.”

“I will bind you,” Castiel said in a threatening voice.

She shrugged. “Fine. You want to piss him off, go ahead. But I’m telling you now, he won’t be—“

“That will do, Tessa,” a serene voice said.

All eyes snapped to the doorway where Death stood, watching them with a mixture of amusement and disappointment.

“Hello, Dean.”


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter Twenty-One_ **

 

Death pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. “Sit.” Though his tone was calm it was unmistakably an order.

Dean and Bobby both sat but Inias and Castiel remained standing. Death didn’t seem to notice Inias. His gaze was fixed on Castiel.

Dean sighed with exasperation. “Dammit, Cas, sit your ass down.”

“If you want my help, you might want to start by getting into my good graces,” Death said. “Sit.”

Looking grudging, Castiel sat down and laid his hands on the table. “Thank you for coming,” he said stiffly.

Death looked amused. “You think I came for _you_? I came because you threatened to bind my reaper. I don’t have an infinite number of them, you know, and Tessa is one of my best.”

“We’re sorry,” Dean said. “But we’re desperate. Sam’s been killed, or taken, or both, and we—“

“Stop babbling, Dean,” Death said. “I know what has happened.”

“You know where he is?” Dean asked hopefully.

“I believe I do.”

Dean sighed with relief. Finally, they were within reach of getting some answers. His chest, which had been hollowed and painful before, now seemed to inflate. For the first time in two weeks he felt that he could breathe again.

“Where is he?” Castiel asked.

Death steepled his fingers together. “Before we speak of those things, I wish to discuss what you did, Castiel.”

“We do not have time for this,” Castiel said angrily.

“You will make time for me.”

“Every minute Sam is gone—“ Castiel sucked in a breath and rubbed a clenched hand over his chest.

“You okay, Cas?” Bobby asked.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. I am—“ Again, his words cut off and this time he winced, rubbing at his chest more vigorously.

If he had been human, Dean would have suspected a heart attack, but Castiel wasn’t human. He had never seen him acting like this before. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked harshly. He didn’t mean to be cold, but he didn’t have room for anymore concerns at the moment. Castiel was their best chance at getting Sam back—if Death ever told them where the Hell he was—and they needed him on form.

“It’s your brother,” Death said serenely. “Castiel is feeling Sam.”

Dean tried to wrap his brain around that for a moment, but it just didn’t make sense. “Feeling him how?”

“He is feeling your brother’s pain,” Death said. “He has bound them together, making them hybrids of a sort, and the cost is that they feel each other.”

“So Sammy’s hurting?” Dean asked in a tremulous voice.

Death nodded. “Yes. He is suffering, and so is Castiel.”

Dean felt sick. Sam was hurting. Sure, he hadn’t imagined Sam was living the high life wherever he was, but for an angel to react like this to the pain, Sam must be really suffering.

“Did you know what you were doing when you took him into yourself?” Death asked conversationally. “Did you realize the price of what you did?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, I did not foresee this, but I regret nothing.”

“Nothing?” Death asked. “I imagine it gets unpleasant for you at times.”

Castiel stiffened. “What would you know of it?”

Death leaned back in his seat. “My business is souls. I know everything about them. What you are feeling now is nothing compared to what I would like you to feel. You took something pure and good and split it into pieces. It is an affront of the highest order.”

“I did what I needed to do to keep him safe,” Castiel said doggedly. “I saved him.”

“Did you consider, even for a moment, that perhaps it would have been better if you hadn’t? By binding Sam to you he was forced to endure the horrors of the cage that much longer. If he had perished, he would at least have been given a reprieve from the rack.”

Dean knew _he_ hadn’t considered that. When he’d got over his worry that what Castiel had done had changed Sam into something wrong, he had thought of how grateful he was that it had happened. Sam had been saved and that was all good as far as he was concerned. He didn’t consider the fact Sam had suffered on the rack even longer because of it.

“He would have died!” Castiel said angrily.

“It would have been about time,” Death said. “He should have died a long time ago. He should have been in Heaven. That was to be his reward for a life well lived. But because of demons and angels he lived and was refused peace. Now he is dead, and yet he is still not at peace, so who do we blame?”

Dean would accept his portion of blame for Sam living past his time, accept it and be proud. He had saved Sam’s life, and he refused to feel shame for that. But the fact he was gone again and still wasn’t at peace tore Dean’s heart open wide.

Castiel winced again, and this time his hand flew to his stomach. Knowing what it mean, Sam’s pain was Castiel’s pain, Dean wished it would stop. He wished there was something he could do to help Sam, but the only chance they had was Death and he didn’t look like he was going to be imparting information until he was good and ready. If he thought it would have made an iota of difference, Dean would have begged and raged and bribed Death to tell him where Sam was. He knew better though. If Death felt inclined, he would tell them, but definitely not until he was ready.

“Blame me,” Castiel said in a mournful voice, “but know this, I never intended for Sam to be hurt. Perhaps I acted selfishly, binding us together, but I would do it all again.”

Death shook his head. “You would do it all again, cursing Sam to this, because it benefits you. You are impossible, Castiel. Do you even remember your true purpose anymore, what your Father wanted from you?”

Castiel didn’t speak. He just stared into Death’s fathomless eyes.

“Please,” Bobby said. “I get that what Cas did pushes your buttons, and it’s not like we were jumping for joy when we heard it either, but if you know where Sam is, please tell us. We just want to get him back, that’s all.”

Death tapped a finger against his chin. “What would you like to know?”

“Where is Sam?” Dean asked desperately. “What’s happened to him?”

“He has been taken by Raphael and his forces,” Death said.

Dean jumped to his feet and pointed a finger at Castiel in accusation. “Raphael! You’re damn angel crap has done this to him. Why didn’t you kill him already?”

Castiel lurched to his feet in return. “Do you think I haven’t tried? I am a seraph. He is an archangel. What weapon do you believe I have?”

“You should have done something,” Dean spat. “You should have taken care of him better. You took him away from us. If he’d stayed, none of this would have happened.”

Castiel bowed his head. “I know that. I should never have left him, but I thought I was acting for the best. I believed Sam deserved to make his own choices.”

Death cleared his throat. “Incidentally, Castiel, you do possess a weapon that can be used against Raphael. You have just been too blinded by your own fear and feeling to use it.”

“What weapon?” Dean asked.

“Sam,” Death said. “Castiel has half of the weapon already, torn and separated though it is. A soul is power after all.” He stared at Castiel. “Reunite the pieces you have and you will have your weapon. Do not believe another will do. It is Sam and you that are unique to the problem. Use what you have and you will be victorious.”

“And if I fail?” Castiel asked.

“Then Sam will at last have some peace”

Dean didn’t have the first clue what they were talking about, but he didn’t much care either. Neither of them seemed to be talking about where Sam was, so he wasn’t interested.

“Sam,” he said impatiently. “Where is he?”

Death cocked an eyebrow. “”Most people speak to me with more respect.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Dean said, raking his hands through his hair. “But I’m kinda desperate here. It’s… He’s my brother.”

“I know,” Death said solemnly. He drew a deep breath. “Sam is in the worst place imaginable.”

It was Dean’s worst fear. Sam was in Hell.

“He’s in Hell?” Bobby breathed and Dean saw horror in his eyes.

“No,” Death said. “Somewhere worse.”

Dean gaped at him. “There is no place worse.”

Death sighed. “For you, perhaps not. But such a place exists.” He turned to Castiel “And you know where it is.”

Castiel nodded, looking horrified.

Death got to his feet, leaning on his cane, and made for the door. “I wish you luck,” he said. “And if you are to retrieve Sam, take better care of him in the future. If I am called here again, I will kill you all in return.”

He walked out of the door, Tessa following, and then let it swing shut behind him.

“I have to go,” Castiel said dully. “I have to…” He rubbed his temple. “I must find him.”

“Hold up!” Dean said. “Where is he that’s worse than Hell? What can possibly be worse than that?”

For the first time since Death had come, Inias stepped away from the wall and spoke. “Heaven.”

xXx

Castiel stood on the edge of a high cliff, staring out over the ocean in the heaven of a lighthouse keeper. He’d chosen it for its vastness, as he would be addressing his entire army in time. For now it was just him, Hester and Rachel, his trusted lieutenants.

“I have found Sam,” he said.

Hester sucked in a breath. She looked afraid, perhaps fearing reprisals for not being the one to find Sam herself.

“Where is he?” Rachel asked.

“He has been jailed,” he said, the severity of his revelation adding weight to his tone.

“But… Oh no. He is here?” Rachel asked.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Raphael’s forces have taken him.”

Rachel bowed her head. “I am so sorry, Castiel.”

“Please assemble the holy host. We must lay siege to that place.”

Rachel nodded but she still looked nervous. “And what of Raphael?”

Castiel remained silent. He believed now, following what Death had said, that he would be powerful enough to free Sam even if Raphael was there, but he was not yet powerful enough to defeat him. He did not possess enough yet to make the possible. If he fell in the fight, there would be a host of other angels that could return Sam to his body.

Rachel stared at him for a long moment and then she disappeared to assemble the host. One by one they appeared around him, each with a look of wariness as they watched him. He had been hard on them recently, as each of them returned without news of Sam. He had held anger toward them for their failings, but now he saw it was his failings that had caused the problems.

He turned away from the ocean and faced them. There were countless angels and he knew them each by name. They were his family. And yet… He would have exchanged any one of them for Sam. That was his shame.

“Sam Winchester has been found,” he said, and his voice echoed over the distance, reaching them all. “He is in Heaven’s jail.”

Their faces twisted with shock and regret. They did not know Sam as Castiel did, only a few had ever seen him even, but they knew what a place the jail was and they were each affected.

“I need to storm it,” Castiel said. “And I need help. I cannot order you to come. This is not our mission to defeat Raphael. You must use your own free will now. If you believe saving an innocent soul from that place is a worthy cause, come with me.”

“I will come,” Rachel said immediately.

Her declaration was echoed across the field. Castiel’s army were standing with him once again. He did not know what he had ever done to inspire such loyalty in them, but he appreciated it in that moment.

“Thank you.”

Castiel looked out at the ocean once more, remembering many nights spent with Sam with the crashing waves as the accompaniment to their conversations. He was going to save him.

The jail was on the very outer arcs of the billions of heavens, and Castiel passed through them each in turn on his way, his army amassed behind him. He had never been inside the prison before, he had seen it from afar, but he did not let that deter him now. There would be no difficulty in getting into the prison. The purpose of the place was to keep people inside. He would need his army to make a passage for him to leave. He strode purposefully forward and flung open the door.

There were many cells, and yet only one was occupied, the one that held Heaven’s most notorious criminal. Castiel cast that cell a scathing glance as he passed. Its occupant came to the bars, and for a moment, he looked as if he was expecting them to free him, but no angel would ever do that.

Castiel stormed forward, toward the door at the end of the hall, but before he reached it, a figure stepped out of an empty cell and sneered at Castiel.

“I knew you would come,” Raphael said. “I was sure you would want to save your human pet.”

“You were right,” Castiel said coldly. “Here I am. But I warn you, Raphael, I am not who you think I am anymore. I have power I did not have before.”

“Yes,” Raphael said in an amused tone. “The scrap of soul. And yet, knowing what I do of humanity, I have to wonder if it will be enough.”

“Let me pass,” Castiel said. “And I shall return to you. I will not bring my followers. It will be a battle between you and I alone. But only if you let me free Sam first.”

Raphael laughed. “A battle between you and I for Heaven? Are you so sick of life, Castiel? I will destroy you.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel said.

Raphael shook his head indulgently. “You poor, delusional thing.”

“Let me pass,” Castiel said again

“I will,” Raphael said. “In return for your word that you will come back and allow us to settle this once and for all.”

“I give you my word,” Castiel said. “I shall return and fight you.”

Raphael bowed. “In that case, retrieve your pet.”

Feeling Raphael’s eyes on him the whole time, Castiel passed him and flung open the door. He was met with a sight both familiar and horrific. This rack was different, but its occupant was the same.

Thaddeus, an angel notorious for his abilities, was working over Sam, and he didn’t notice Castiel until the knife slid into his chest. He looked stunned as Castiel pushed him from the blade and dropped to the floor, a inky black outline of his wings dirtying the floor.

“Sam,” Castiel crooned.

He eased Sam from the rack and cradled him against his chest, feeling the warmth of the soul responding to the portion in his chest, the portion he was banking on to defeat Raphael, as he would not risk taking more.

He cast the rack and Thaddeus’ corpse a scathing look and turned with Sam in his arms. His angels lined the hall, looking like a guard of honor as he walked past them all. Their eyes came to rest on Sam and he knew what they were all seeing. The blue-white of his grace wrapped around Sam’s soul. There were soft gasps of shock and mutterings, but it was white noise to Castiel. He didn’t care what they thought. What mattered was getting Sam to safety.

As they left the jail and stepped outside, Rachel touched his arm and spoke in a whisper.

“Why did you do it, Castiel?” she asked. He wasn’t sure whether she was referring to his bargain with Raphael or the fact he’d bound himself to Sam, but his answer was the same for both.

“Because this is Sam Winchester, and he is worth it.”

That said, he spread his wings and carried Sam home.


	22. Chapter 22

**_Chapter Twenty-Two_ **

 

Sam was in Inias’ arms again. Dean thought he could go a lifetime without ever seeing that again, especially the way he looked now: grey, cold, dead, and wrapped in the sheet that had covered him in the morgue.

Inias had gone with Bobby to retrieve Sam’s body ready for Castiel to work his mojo if, no, when, he got Sam back. Dean couldn’t go. He couldn’t be in that place again. He couldn’t bear to see Sam on a stainless steel slab with his eyes closed and his heart not beating. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to step inside another morgue without seeing Sam.

“Set him down here,” he said, patting the cot.

With extreme care, Inias laid Sam down and stepped back. “Can I do anything else?” he asked.

“Maybe go keep Bobby company,” Dean said.

Inias nodded and left the room, easing the door closed behind him.

Dean waited until he was gone and then he forced himself to look down at his brother. “Okay, Sammy,” he said gently. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

He had set everything out that he would need before Inias got back, moving quietly in the silent house, and now he set to work. He washed Sam with warm water, taking some of the chill from his skin and getting rid of the smell of the morgue. He dried him carefully, as if Sam could feel the dampness clinging to his skin, and then dressed him in jeans and a t-shirt they had retrieved from the Dodge Sam had been using since they separated. All the while, he spoke to Sam, talking about mundane nonsense the way he had when trying to settle a fretful Sam as a baby when he had been a child himself. He knew Sam couldn’t hear him, the part of him that could have responded was gone, and yet he did it anyway; he was doing it for himself.

He had just finished and was adjusting Sam so he looked comfortable when Bobby and Inias burst into the room. His heart relocated to his throat as he looked at them both. “What? What’s happened?”

“He’s done it,” Bobby said. “Cas got him out. Inias just heard. They’re on their way back.”

Dean exhaled a shaky breath. “They’re coming?”

Inias nodded. “They are coming.”

Dean felt wetness on his face and he wiped it away carelessly. He didn’t care what happened next. He didn’t care how pissed Sam was at him. As long as he was alive, it would all be okay. And Dean wouldn’t let him disappear again. He would make sure he was there to protect Sam in future.

Inias’ head snapped up and he smiled. “They are here.”

Dean heard the sound of the stairs creaking, and then Castiel was there. It was hard to make him out at first, as bright, white light seemed to be streaming from him, but as he adjusted his arms slightly, shielding the light, he came in to view.

Dean stepped back against the wall, giving him a clear path to Sam, but his eyes stayed fixed on the light that was Sam in Castiel’s arms. Sam’s soul and Castiel’s grace combined. How could he have ever thought it was a bad thing? It was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen in his life.

Castiel walked slowly across the room, his steps careful and measured, as if the slightest tremble would hurt the thing in his arms. His face was lit with the light, and he was smiling slightly. Dean realized he was too. He could live a long lifetime and see many things, but he would never find a sight to match that of his brother’s soul in the angel’s arms.

“You should probably shield your eyes,” Castiel said softly.

Dean knew he should obey, but he couldn’t. He was transfixed by what was happening. Castiel cupped a hand and moved it to the center of the light, where it was pulsing brightest. Slowly, he lowered himself till he was sitting on the edge of the cot and moved his hand so it was resting directly over the center of Sam’s chest. He pressed down and the light grew brighter for a moment, making Dean’s eyes squeeze shut. When he opened them again, the light was gone.

The light was gone, but Sam was still not moving. The sickening thought occurred to Dean that it might be too late.

“Cas,” he said in a tremulous voice. “Shouldn’t something be happening? I mean the grace is supposed to…”

“Something is happening,” Castiel said contentedly. “Watch.”

He was staring intently at his hand where it rested on Sam’s chest, and then Dean saw it too. It moved slightly, just a slight lift, followed by another and another. Sam was breathing. He stared at it in awe for a long time, absorbed by the sight, and then he began to worry again.

“Why isn’t he waking up?”

“He will,” Castiel said, not looking at Dean, but staring at Sam. “He just needs time.” There was no trace of doubt in his tone. He believed in Sam, and Dean knew he needed to as well. Castiel picked up Sam’s hand and cradled it in both of his. He smiled again. “He’s warm now.”

Warm was good. Warm meant alive. Warm meant something other than the horrible, cold, stiff, dead he had been.

Bobby pulled up a chair from the desk and gestured for Dean to sit. Dean dragged the chair to the cot, the opposite side to Castiel, and then he sat down. He wanted to be close when Sam woke up.

xXx

Castiel could have waited an eternity for Sam to wake up. He was patient and imbued with the knowledge that Sam would wake when he was ready. He had come so far already; he would not fail them now.

Whereas Castiel waited patiently, sitting on the side of the cot with Sam’s warm hand in his own, feeling the life blood rushing beneath the skin, Dean couldn’t keep still. He sat down for a time on the chair beside the cot, staring at Sam as if he could make him wake through pure force of will. Then he would get to his feet and pace the room like a caged animal. He asked Castiel repeatedly when Sam would wake, and Castiel gave the same patient answer every time: when he’s ready and not before.

After a long hour of waiting, Bobby cleared his throat. “Cas, do you know what he was doing in Sioux Falls?”

Castiel spoke without lifting his gaze from Sam. “He was coming back to you. When we last parted, he said that it was time for him to come home.”

“He was coming back?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. I am not sure how he came to be in that motel on that night though. He just told me where he was. I was in battle at the time, so I could not come to him.” A fact that Castiel cursed. If he had been with Sam, Sam would never have been killed and he would never have been trapped in that place.

Dean and Bobby fell silent again, and Castiel felt no need to break it. There were other things they needed to discuss, Bobby needed to be told his deal had been broken, but it could wait until Sam was awake. That was his triumph more than Castiel’s. When Sam was awake, when he was ready, they would all talk.

They had been waiting another hour when things changed for Castiel. He had been feeling serene, patient, and that all changed with a twitch of the hand in his own. Suddenly, he felt raw. As if every nerve of his vessel had been stripped. It was painful, and he knew he was only feeling some portion of what Sam must be feeling.

“Sam,” he said softly. “Can you hear me?”

“What’s happening?” Dean asked.

“He’s waking up.”

A new feeling joined the sensation of being raw. It was fear. Sam was afraid, terribly afraid. Castiel dropped Sam’s hand and moved away from the bed.

“That’s good news, right?” Bobby asked.

“He’s scared,” Castiel said. “So scared.”

Sam’s eyes were rolling beneath their lids. He was fighting to wake up now. Castiel stepped away from Sam, though it hurt him to do it, and moved to stand beside Bobby.

“Dean,” he said softly. “Come away. Give him space.”

Dean could not obey; the pull of his brother was too great. Instead of moving away, he stood and crept towards Sam.

“Sammy,” he said in a voice more gentle than Castiel had ever heard him use in life. “It’s okay. Come on, man, you can wake up now.”

“Dean, no!” Castiel said harshly, but it was too late. Dean had reached out and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder, wanting to give comfort but scaring Sam in the process.

Sam’s eyes snapped open and in one smooth movement he rolled of the bed and onto the floor, his hands propping him up. His wild gaze roved the room and his breath came in pants.

“Sammy?” Dean said in an unsteady voice.

Sam’s gaze snapped to his brother and he jerked back. Legs and arms pumping, he scooted back across the concrete floor until his shoulders hit the wall. He drew his legs up to his chest and hid his face against his knees. His hands came up to his hair and tangled in the long strands.

“What’s happened to him?” Dean asked.

Castiel ignored the question, it was a stupid one anyway, and raised his arms in front of himself in a placatory gesture. He could still feel what Sam was feeling and the fear was almost crippling him. It was only the fact it was Sam and he needed Castiel to be brave that stopped him mimicking Sam’s position. He was a soldier of God. He had seen terrible things, but he had never been as scared as this before.

“Sam,” he said gently. “You’re okay. No one is going to hurt you.”

Sam whimpered.

“Look at me, Sam. I am here, Dean is here, and Bobby. We would never hurt you.”

Sam could not or would not obey. His head remained pressed against his knees and his hands in his hair, but Castiel thought he felt some new emotion ringed around the fear. Something lighter.

“I know you are scared, Sam, but you need to calm down. You’re not there anymore. No one here will hurt you. You are safe.”

As he spoke, he walked slowly towards Sam, keeping his hands raised in front of him. When he reached him, he eased himself down to the floor, kneeling against the cold concrete.

“I am here,” he said gently. “You are safe. Look at me. It’s Castiel.”

The fingers in Sam’s hair twitched and Castiel took hope from the movement.

“That’s right, Sam. I am here.”

Sam’s hands untangled from his hair and moved slowly to his knees. Slowly, so slowly, Sam raised his head and looked at Castiel. His eyes were wet with tears and he looked as scared as Castiel could feel he was, but he was reacting at least.

Castiel smiled slightly. “It’s okay, Sam. I am here.”

“Cas?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes. It’s me.”

In a move so unexpected it stole Castiel’s breath, Sam lurched forward and threw himself in Castiel’s arms. His whole form shook with sobs and his breaths rasped in Castiel’s ear. Castiel brought his hands up to clasp Sam against him.

They stayed like that for a long time, clinging to each other, until Sam’s emotions evened out and his sobs trailed off. His arms fell from Castiel’s back and he sat back on his haunches to look Castiel in the eye.

He spoke in a whisper. “You saved me?”

“Always,” Castiel said simply.

Sam smiled slightly. “I know.”

xXx

Sam got slowly to his feet. He felt shaky and weak, as if he was recovering from the flu; a chill swept down his spine and he shuddered.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked solicitously.

Sam nodded.

Castiel didn’t look convinced but he didn’t push Sam; he never did.

Standing by the door was Inias and Bobby. Dean was gripping the back of a chair set beside the cot he had woken up on. He was staring intently at Sam, but Sam wasn’t able to meet his eye at once. When he was in… that place, he had thought he would have given anything for the chance to see Dean again, but there was awkwardness now. What was Dean thinking? He was here, sure, and it looked like he’d been sitting vigil, but did that necessarily mean all was forgiven. Did he still believe Sam wasn’t human? Did it even matter if he did? Sam didn’t care, but would Dean? Sam wasn’t even sure himself if he was human anymore.

“Sammy?”

It was the raw need in Dean’s voice and the nickname coupled that gave Sam the strength to look into his brother’s eyes. The last time he’d seen Dean, his eyes had been blazing with fury as they had argued. There was no anger there now. There was fear and confusion, but it wasn’t directed at Sam, it was _for_ Sam.

He crossed the room on shaky legs and came to a stop in front of Dean, then he faltered. Dean took the lead, and he pulled Sam into a hug. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, just feeling the relief and then he opened them and stepped back, catching Bobby’s eyes over Dean’s shoulder.

“Really, son,” Bobby said, “you’ve got to stop pulling crap like this. It’s not good for an old man.”

Sam’s lips quirked into a smile. “I’ll try.”

“Come on,” Dean said, casting the circumference of the room a nervous look. “Let’s get upstairs. I…I hate this place.”

Sam couldn’t disagree. He hated it too. Too much bad had happened in that room.

He looked behind him, to make sure Castiel was coming too, and then followed Dean up the stairs. When they got into the library, Sam made straight for the dilapidated couch. He still felt shaky and he didn’t want to face-plant in front of his family. Castiel sat beside him and Dean sat on the edge of the desk.

“You want anything?” Bobby asked. “You hungry or thirsty?”

“Maybe thirsty,” Sam said. He wasn’t too sure what he was feeling other than incredibly relieved to be back in this house with these people.

Bobby nodded and went through to the kitchen, a moment later he returned and handed Sam a glass of water.

“So…” Sam said awkwardly. “How long was I, you know?”

“Dead?” Dean asked harshly. “Two weeks.”

“Dead!” He had thought he was unconscious or something, whatever happened when your soul was ripped out of your body by a pissed off angel and delivered to Heaven’s jail. What had happened to his body? Had he been in the panic room the whole time… slowly… He couldn’t allow that thought to finish.

Castiel gave Dean a remonstrative look and touched Sam’s hand where it lay on his lap. “There is no need to be afraid. Whatever happened, wherever you were, it is over now.”

Sam nodded and took a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s over.”

“So, what happened?” Dean asked. His arms were crossed over his chest and he looked pissed, but Sam didn’t think he was angry with him, at least not consciously. He was angry at the whole situation. Sam didn’t know what had happened to him in the two weeks he’d been gone, but having had some experience at living without his brother, he knew it’d been bad.

“It was a couple angels, but they were working for Raphael.”

“Angels!” Dean bellowed, glaring at Castiel.

“It’s not his fault,” Sam said quickly. “She was supposed to be a part of his army. She was a traitor. Cas didn’t know.”

“Who was it, Sam?” Though Castiel’s tone was soft, there was fury beneath it.

“Hester,” Sam said, and braced himself for the fallout.

Castiel leapt to his feet, his whole being vibrating with rage. Sam could feel it within him, like a torch against his chest, and he cringed, wishing he could feel nothing. He bowed his head and his hands fisted on his lap, trying to block out the sounds of Castiel’s heavy footsteps against the threadbare carpet and Dean’s demand for more information.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fury was gone and Castiel was beside him again. “I am sorry, Sam. I lost myself for a moment. I didn’t mean to make you feel that.”

Their eyes met and Sam smiled slightly. “It’s okay.”

“Feel?” Dean asked blankly. “Hang on, can he feel you?”

“Yes,” Castiel said serenely. “The bond works in reverse, too.”

“That’s just…” Dean didn’t seem able to articulate his thoughts, but Sam could guess what he was thinking.

“Not human?”

“You think that matters anymore?” Dean asked brutally. “Sam, you were dead. For two weeks you were dead. If you think I care about souls and grace and that crap after that, you’re dumber than I thought. What I was thinking was that it’s fucked up for you having to feel what he’s feeling. I saw the other side of it when you were… gone, and I know it’s no picnic.”

He didn’t care. Sam smiled in spite of himself. He wasn’t truly sure he was all the way human anymore, but it didn’t matter to him, and apparently it didn’t matter to Dean either. That was a huge weight off his mind. He’d spent all the time they’d been apart telling himself he didn’t care what Dean thought, but that had been a lie. Dean was his brother; of course he cared.

“So,” Castiel said calmly. “Hester killed you.”

Sam winced as his mind was forced back to what had happened. “There was someone else there. His name was Virgil. He gave her the gun. She shot me, and Virgil… I’m guessing he ripped my soul out. There was a lot of light and then I lost track until I was… there.” He looked apologetically at Castiel. “They knew about the grace. Hester said ‘the demon’ told them. It must have been Crowley.”

For a second, the rage flickered in his chest again, but Castiel was in control of it, and it was soon gone.

“What’s Crowley got to do with anything?” Bobby asked angrily. Sam guessed he held more than his fair share of resentment towards the demon holding his contract.

Sam looked at Castiel, searching his eyes for an answer, and Castiel shook his head; he hadn’t told Bobby.

“He saw the grace healing me when we summoned him.”

“And you were summoning him why?”

Sam smiled and looked at Bobby. “Someone had to. We needed to get that contract broken somehow.”

Bobby’s mouth dropped open. “You mean…”

“Yeah. Cas got him to rip it up, figuratively speaking. You’re off the hook, Bobby.”

Bobby shook his head wordlessly.

“You’re welcome,” Sam said.

“Yeah, that’s awesome and all,” Dean said impatiently. “But let’s get back to the fact that a couple angels came and shot my brother. Cas, man, please tell me you’re going to get smiting soon.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I will, of course, deal with Hester, and Virgil will not pose much of a problem to me now, but Raphael…” He sighed. “I have no weapon for him, though I have sworn that I will return to Heaven to battle him.”

Sam slumped back against the couch cushions. Castiel was going to fight Raphael. He would be killed. Raphael was an archangel. They were powerful and terrifying and cruel. He knew.

“That’s great!” Dean clapped his hands together. “Go Cas!”

Castiel’s lips twisted into a grimace. “I would not celebrate yet, Dean. It is very unlikely that I will succeed.

“What about that stuff Death was saying, about Sam? He said reunite the pieces and you’d have a weapon. Don’t you have to just give Sam his soul back to make it work?”

“No,” Castiel said solemnly. “He means I have to reunite the soul by taking what Sam still possesses and holding it within myself.”

“You’re kidding! You’re not doing it,” Dean said angrily. “There’s no way.”

“I know,” Castiel said equally as angrily. “Do you truly believe I would do that to him after everything he’s been through? I had hoped you would know me better than that by now.”

Sam had listened to them in silence, processing what they were saying, at least trying to, but now he forced himself to speak. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“No,” Dean said. “You don’t.”

Sam scowled at him. “And you do?”

“I’m looking out for you, Sam. You don’t want this.”

Sam sighed. He would have liked to be angry with Dean, it would have been easier, but he couldn’t be. Dean was doing his job as a big brother, taking care of him, but what he had to understand was that Sam could take care of himself now.

“You don’t know that. I can make this decision for myself.”

“Sam,” Castiel said softly, “you cannot do this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s too dangerous. The risk that I could destroy you is too great.”

“So dangerous the grace can’t fix it?”

“If I did this—

“You’re not,” Dean interjected but Castiel ignored him.

“—it would take away the grace, too. Even if the grace remained, it could not heal you. I could literally blast you into atoms.”

“Dead dead, then.” Sam said with a nod.

“Exactly,” Dean said. “I know you’re setting new limits for resurrections, but this could be the big one, Sam. No coming back.”

Sam wasn’t stupid. He knew that this could really be the end, but he thought it might just be worth the risk if it defeated Raphael. He had knowingly jumped into Hell for the sake of the world, this wasn’t much different. If anything, it was easier. He wouldn’t be damning himself to an eternity of torment, it would be Heaven, and that wasn’t such a bad thing, despite what he had experienced recently.

“If I do this,” he said, ignoring Dean’s squawk of protest, “does it mean Raphael will be killed?”

“Death seemed to think so,” Castiel said.

“Then we’ll do it,” Sam said.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” Dean growled. “You’re not doing this.”

“I have to, Dean,” Sam said softly. “Even without the risk of the apocalypse, I’d do it. I can’t live the rest of my life scared.“

“If you do this, there might not be a rest of your life!”

Sam shrugged. “That’s a risk I am prepared to take.”

Dean threw his arms up. “Do you want to die? Is that it?”

“No” Sam said quickly. “But I am not living in fear the rest of my life either. This is the world, Dean, again. No one person’s life is more important than that.”

Castiel spoke up, speaking over whatever protests Dean was forming. “It might kill you, Sam.”

“It might not.”

“It will be painful.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Believe me, I know. Is there any other way of taking down Raphael?”

Castiel shook his head. “None that I know of.”

“Then we’re doing it.”

Castiel stared into his eyes for a long moment and Sam stared back. He was sure Castiel was searching for a trace of doubt, and Sam wasn’t going to show any. He stowed away his fear and hid it deep within himself, hiding it even from himself.

Eventually, Castiel nodded. “I will do it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Dean shouted. “Cas, we’ve just got him back for crap’s sake!.”

“I know,” Castiel said stiffly. “And I want this even less than you do, but it is what must happen. Sam is the one to make this choice, not us.”

Dean marched toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked in a small voice.

“Anywhere but here,” Dean snapped. “I’m not watching you die again. I can’t do it.”

Sam could accept that. He wouldn’t be able to stay if he was in Dean’s position, though he wished he would. He was more than a little afraid and he wanted his brother there, selfish though it was.

The door swung shut behind Dean and Sam turned to Bobby. “Are you staying?”

Bobby nodded slowly. “Seems to me I’ve let you down recently. If I can’t stay with you now, it means I’m letting you down again. I’ll stay.”

Sam smiled his thanks and turned to Castiel. “What do we have to do?”

Castiel stared into his eyes for a long moment. “We need to prepare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a rec for you. The wonderfully talented Agelade has a series called Lustra that starts with Earth Angel and continues to the just posted Sanguis Sanctus. She is planning a series of fics with each story working as an episode.  
> Summary: When Dean can't convince Sam to stop moments from completing the Trials, they discover a bigger problem that will take more than a spell to fix. Between fallen angels, freshly human Cas, bickering prophets and demons, Abaddon, and deadly monsters, Sam and Dean will have to mend their relationship a bit before they can even start to save the world this time. Featuring hell trauma for both boys, lots of canon-level violence, and many many BM scenes.  
> I cannot overstate how much I love her stories. Her writing is incredible and her characterization is spot on. Do yourself a favor and go look up Earth Angel — you will find her profile under my favorite authors — you won’t regret it. While you’re reading – and loving, I guarantee it — leave her a review. She works so hard on these stories and they are deserving of your support. Tell her I sent you and she might post the next story a little faster for me – I’m jonesing for her next update.


	23. Chapter 23

Dean had every intention of driving to a bar and drowning his woes in as much liquor as the bills in his wallet could provide, but after driving past his third bar in a row without stopping, he realized he wasn’t going to be drinking anytime soon. Truth was, the one place he wanted to be was the place he’d just left behind.

He’d messed up again, walking out on his brother like that. Just like he’d messed up when he’d heard about Sam and Castiel’s ‘bond’. That time it had ended with Sam being killed, this time could end the same… And Dean wouldn’t be there.

He pulled a sharp u-turn in the middle of the road and gunned the accelerator. He had to get back there before Castiel did it. He needed to see his brother, be there for him, before it was too late, again.

He roared through the streets and onto Bobby’s road. His brakes squealed as he slammed on them to make the turn into Bobby’s property, and he cursed as he was forced to slow and wind his way through the junkers to the house.

“Sam!” he shouted as he threw open the car door and ran toward the house.

Before he could reach it, the door opened and Bobby appeared. For a wild moment, Dean thought it was too late, that Sam was already gone, but then he noticed Bobby’s smile and relaxed slightly.

“You ain’t missed it,” Bobby said.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“I told them to wait.”

“For what?”

“You,” Bobby said simply.

“How did you know I’d come back?”

“Same reason I didn’t leave. You and me screwed up lately, leaving Sam alone, and I knew once you’d calmed down you’d see we couldn’t do that again.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“In the panic room with Cas. They’re talking or mind melding or something. Can’t be sure what to be honest. You know how they are now. Feeling each other’s feelings and tripping balls on the power or whatever.”

Dean nodded curtly. He knew exactly what Bobby was talking about. Sam and Castiel were a unit now, had been ever since they’d got out of Hell, and he wasn’t sure how he fit into that anymore. It had always been him and Sam against the world. Now he felt like he was the one on the outside and it was going to take some getting used to.

Bobby stepped back and let him into the house. He walked through into the kitchen and paused. On the table were two glasses of whiskey. Bobby picked one up and thrust it into Dean’s hand. “Get this down you.”

Dean needed no more encouragement than that. He downed the fiery liquid and gasped as it burned his throat. “Seriously, Bobby, you need to up your quality or start a fund for my new liver.”

“You buy the liquor and you can complain,” Bobby said gruffly.

Dean smiled. “I’ll do that next time.”

Bobby plucked the empty glass out of his hand. “Come on then. We better get down there.”

Dean followed him from the room and down the wooden stairs to the basement. Nothing much had changed in the panic room except for the fact Sam and Castiel were sitting on the edge of the cot in the middle of the room. They both fell silent as Dean and Bobby entered. Dean saw the shock in Sam’s eyes and then the nervous smile that curved his lips.

“Didn’t think you’d come back,” he said.

“Me either. I figured I owed it to you to come though.”

Sam smiled a little ruefully. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean clapped his hands together and forced himself to smile. “So, what have we got to do?”

Castiel got to his feet and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I shall take Sam’s soul and then return to Heaven. You will be needed to keep Sam safe while I am gone.” _If Sam survived._ Though Castiel didn’t say it Dean heard it loud and clear.

“Safe from what exactly?” Bobby asked.

“From myself,” Sam said before Castiel could answer. “Cas has told me a bit about it and I am liable to be pretty… difficult. I might say things and do things that’ll seem shady.”

“What exactly should we expect?” Dean asked, turning his eyes on Castiel.

“Sam will not be himself. He will have his memories and thoughts, but they will not be colored by love or conscience. He will be a shell of himself, and I suspect his instinct will be to get away from you. He will know that our plan is to return his soul as soon as I am free to return, and he will not want that.”

It sounded like he was going to be possessed. Dean had seen him like that twice before, once when Meg was in Sam and the last, and more unpleasant time was when Lucifer was riding him. Both times Dean had been beaten bloody by his brother’s fists, and he suspected this time was going to be the same. It was a risk they’d have to take though. Sam was risking everything, his _life,_ to help Castiel beat Raphael. Dean could take a beating for the same cause.

“Don’t let me free, Dean!” Sam said sharply. “No matter what I say or do.”

“Let you free?” Dean asked with a furrowed brow, but then Bobby picked up a set of handcuffs from the desk and walked towards Sam, and Dean understood. They were going to have to physically restrain him. He wasn’t sure he could do that.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, knowing in his way what Dean was thinking. “It’s the only way.”

The only way… All this was being done because it was the ‘only way’. All that had happened before had come from the same belief. The only way to defeat Lucifer was to let him possess Sam. Sam jumping into Hell was the only way to free the world from him. Too much had happened because they thought it was the only way, and it was to Sam that it happened. Then an idea occurred to Dean, making his pulse pound in his ears and his breathing stutter. Was it the only way?

“It’s a soul you need, right?” he asked.

Castiel nodded.

“Then take mine.”

Castiel looked sad. “I can’t. It is not a soul I need in the simplest form, it’s _this_ soul, Sam’s soul.”

“But why?”

“Because of the way we are bound. Sam possesses my grace and I his soul. That has forged a bond between us that is more than merely emotional.”

Dean frowned. What was his bond with Sam if not emotional? Was Castiel trying to say he and Sam were more bonded together than Dean and Sam now? He wouldn’t believe it. They were brothers. Grace couldn’t replace a lifetime of memories and taking care of each other.

Sam stared at him for a long moment, and then he shook his head. “Let’s just do this.” He lied down on the cot and stared up at the ceiling. Bobby handcuffed his right wrist to the cot and tightened it so it held him fast.

Castiel walked forward and laid his hand flat on Sam’s chest. “Are you sure?”

Sam nodded. “Don’t worry about what I’m feeling. Let’s just do this.”

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment then nodded, too. He looked apologetically at Sam and then slowly moved his hand.

Dean had seen him do this before, in the morgue, but Sam had been dead then and unable to react. Now it was different. At first the tips of his fingers disappeared and Sam grimaced and then as Castel forced his hand in further, Sam couldn’t stay silent. He screamed in pain and his back arched. Bright light circled around Castiel’s wrist and Dean wanted to look away, but his eyes seemed frozen in place watching the horror being performed. Sam slumped back on the bed and his eyes slid closed, and for a moment Dean was sure he was dead, but then his eyes saw his chest rising and falling still in pants and he realized Sam was alive, he’d just fallen unconscious.

Castiel slowly eased his hand out of Sam’s chest, and in his hand, gripped loosely was the burning white light of Sam’s soul. Once again, Dean was in awe of it. That was his brother there, not the man on the cot. The real Sam, his essence, was in Castiel’s hand.

“I did it,” Castiel, sounding stunned.

“And he’s okay, right?” Bobby asked.

Castiel nodded. “He will be fine.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

“Wish me luck,” Castiel said softly, and then he was gone.

“Good luck,” Dean said to the space he’d just vacated.

xXx

Dean though he could go a lifetime and never see Sam like this again, and he would call it a good life. He was sick, _sick_ of seeing Sam unconscious or worse. It seemed never ending.

Maybe when this was over, when Raphael was defeated, they would get a break. He knew it wouldn’t be a permanent rest, the world conspired against them at every turn, but even a short one would be good. They could have some time to just be brothers together instead of fighting together. Sam needed that after everything he’d been through lately.

Bobby pulled two chairs from the desk and gestured Dean into one of them. He sat down slowly, still keeping his eyes on his brother, and rested his elbows on his knees. He wanted Sam to wake up, but at the same time, he was scared of what would happen when he did. He wasn’t sure he could deal with a ‘possessed’ Sam again. Maybe it would be better that Sam stay unconscious the whole time Castiel was gone.

“You okay?” Bobby asked softly.

Dean drew his eyes from his brother and looked at Bobby, seeing the tight lines around the eyes that belied his stress. “Are you?”

Bobby shook his head. “Not really. I wish he’d wake up already.”

Dean smiled. “Wish in one hand…”

“Shit in the other,” Bobby finished for him. It was one of John Winchester’s favorite sayings. Wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first.

They stayed quiet for a long moment, both staring down at the floor, and then movement on the cot drew their attention. Sam’s eyes were rolling under his lids and his unrestrained hand came up to rub his chest. “Owww,” he groaned. “That hurt.”

Dean wouldn’t admit to being scared of his brother, never in life, and he wasn’t worried he would hurt him physically, but the fear of what he would say was there. Dean told himself this wasn’t his brother, not really, but it was Sam’s body and that added credence to the fact it was still him.

Sam eased himself around to sit on the edge of the cot, with his hand tethered at his side. “You sure it worked?” he asked. “’Cause I don’t feel any different.”

“It worked,” Dean said.

Sam shrugged. “Then Cas was overstating the effects of the soul.”

Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was supposed to be this emotionless automaton, right? But I’m still me. I feel the same way I usually do.” He rattled the cuff and looked expectantly at Bobby. “You gonna let me free?”

“Nah,” Bobby said unconcernedly. “I don’t think so.”

“C’mon, Bobby. It’s not like I’m going to hurt anyone. I’m still me. Besides, this is making my shoulder ache.”

“Sorry to hear that. But we’re still not letting you free,” Bobby said.

“What do you think I’m going to do?”

“Dunno, but we’re not going to find out.”

Sam turned to Dean. “Help me out here, Dean. Bobby’s paranoia has hopped up a level. He needs an intervention.”

Dean cleared his throat roughly. “I’m sorry, Sammy. But you’re staying put. You told us to keep you locked down.”

“Yeah, when I thought I was going to be this… _shell._ I’m not though. I’m me.”

Dean wanted to believe it, he wanted it to be his brother, but he couldn’t risk it. If Castiel was right, and Sam’s goal was to escape, they had to keep him locked down.

Sam sighed and looked down at the floor. “You don’t trust me.”

“We trust Sam,” Bobby said. “ _Our_ Sam. You’re not him.”

Sam looked imploringly at Dean. “Please, Dean.”

Dean shook his head reluctantly. “I can’t, Sammy.”

Sam shook his head dolefully and then a cruel smile crept across his lips. “Okay. You’re right. I’m not Sam, not really, but I do have his memories and thoughts. Want to know what I’m thinking now?”

Now Dean was scared. He didn’t know what this… Sam was going to tell him.

Sam’s smile widened. “Heaven maybe, or how about how Sam felt when he woke up in here and saw your faces again?”

“Don’t listen, Dean,” Bobby warned. “It’s not him.”

But Dean couldn’t not listen. He had to know. This Sam, devoid of conscience and emotion though he was, would tell him the truth.

Sam clapped his hands together, rattling the handcuff chain. “Heaven then. Well, that was a treat and a half. You know how Hester did it? She shot him and waited for the grace to start the healing, and then Virgil shoved his hand into Sam’s chest and ripped out his soul. The pain was… unimaginable. Then Sam woke up again, and he was in Hell, or at least he thought he was. In fact, he’d have preferred Hell. At least then you knew what you were up against. Heaven is worse. It was supposed to be his reward after a lifetime of pain, the big prize, but instead it was pain and misery. And all the time he was there, he kept waiting, thinking you would come for him, but it wasn’t you, was it, Dean? It was Castiel. He saved Sam. Again.”

Dean couldn’t have saved him. There was nothing he could have done, but he still felt a wave of pain as Sam recited his tale. He should have protected him. He never should have let Sam go off on his own. He should have found him sooner, forced Castiel to tell him where he was. His hands fisted on his lap.

“Don’t listen,” Bobby said again. He might as well not have spoken.

“Yes, Castiel saved him,” Sam said conversationally. “But that’s where Sam’s good luck ended. Instead of being taken somewhere safe and peaceful, Sam was dragged back here… to you. You have no idea how angry he was when he saw you both watching him. After everything he’d said and done to evade you, he was back. His freedom was stripped from him again. Heaven’s dungeon would have been better.”

“Say what you like,” Bobby said, sounding unconcerned. “We know it’s not really Sam talking. It’s you. Whatever the hell you are.”

“Of course it’s not Sam talking,” he said. “He would never be so honest with you. Papa Winchester taught him better than that. He taught him to mind his brother always. To lie and cheat and hide the truth from everyone. That’s what Winchesters do. Isn’t that right, Dean?”

Dean couldn’t answer, wouldn’t. He just tightened his fists and stared down at the floor.

“Tell me, Dean. How bad was the disappointment when you heard Sam was getting out of the cage? After all those years of taking care of him, you were finally free, and then Castiel screwed it all up.”

“It was never like that,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“Really?” Sam eyed him curiously. “Perhaps you should tell Sam that, because that’s not what he believes. He thinks that was possibly the worst day of your life, the day you heard he was coming back.”

“Sam knows better than that,” Bobby said doggedly.

“Really? Then why did he tell Dean to go to Lisa when he got back? He thought it was a win-win. Dean would be free of the burden of his brother and Sam would be free to be a man at last, instead of the child Dean treated him as.”

Dean felt Bobby’s eyes on him but he didn’t meet them. He hadn’t told Bobby about that conversation.

“Want to know what he thinks of you, Bobby?” Sam asked. “’Cause that’s a treat.”

“Pound sand,” Bobby said brutally. “You’re not Sam, not really, and all this is bull. We _know_ Sam.”

Sam laughed. “Sure you do. That’s why you had so much trouble finding him when he went AWOL. You used to know him. Not anymore. You know, for someone that’s not supposed to have emotions, I am finding this very therapeutic. It’s good to get it off my chest.”

“No,” Bobby said in a bored tone. “You’re not malicious, that would require the ability to feel, you’re devious. You’re trying to find the key, the right words that will make us let you go. You can say what you like, but it’s not going to help. You’re stuck here until Castiel gets back and makes you Sam again. Until then, you can say what you like.”

“Fine,” Sam said. “In that case, let’s talk about Lucifer. You need to know how betrayed Sam felt when you _both_ gave him to go-ahead to throw himself into the pit…”


	24. Chapter 24

Castiel had never felt so exhilarated. He was surging with power, his being was suffused with it. His every atom seemed to tingle. It was more than that though. There was a feeling of completeness. As if he'd been split in half at the moment of creation and now he was made whole. It was Sam. He had left him behind in that panic room a shell of a man and taken the most important part of him into himself, and that had completed him. It was the most amazing feeling. He never wanted it to end.

His wings spread at his back, each tingling with power, and he flew.

Though they had not arranged a place to meet, he knew instinctively where he would find Raphael, where the archangel would be waiting for him, his favorite heaven. It was no surprise therefore when he came to rest in and saw Raphael standing in the centre of the park. He was alone, which was a surprise though. Even if he didn’t want his troops to fight Castiel, he would want them to watch. He was nothing if not theatrical and lived for an audience.

“Castiel,” Raphael said. “You came.”

“I gave my word I would.”

“Your word. That means little to those of us that know you, Castiel. You have given your word before and managed to break it. I do not forget your disobedience to Michael. You swore along with your garrison that you would obey, would help Michael meet his goal, and yet you disappointed. You took up arms against him.”

“I took the right side,” Castiel said. “We saved the world.”

Raphael’s lips curved into a grim smile. “For a time, yes. After I have destroyed you I shall find Dean Winchester and he will give me the rings. I shall bring forth our brothers and the foretold battle shall recommence. We will destroy Lucifer and we shall have our paradise.”

“There is already paradise,” Castiel said. “It is a human paradise as our Father intended it to be. You accuse me of disobedience and yet you are the one that has forgotten His wishes.”

Raphael bristled with fury. “And whose fault is that? Who left us alone? He abandoned us, Castiel. He left us alone and we were without guidelines. He gave humans free will, but while He reigned we were denied it. He is gone now and we will do what we want. And what I want is to crush you like the bug you are.”

Raphael struck like a snake. One moment he was opposite Castiel, talking and the next his fist was slamming into Castiel’s jaw. The blow rocked Castiel back but he didn’t lose his feet. Sam’s soul had given him enough strength to keep them.

Raphael’s eyes widened. “What is different?”

Castiel smirked. “You truly think I’d tell you?”

Raphael’s fist snapped out again, but Castiel blocked it. He gripped Raphael’s wrist and forced it down to his side.

“No, brother,” he said serenely.

Raphael looked stunned. “What did you do?”

Castiel smiled. “I am not here alone.”

Stupidly, Raphael looked around the park, searching for someone or something. His idiocy made Castiel’s smile widen. He was always the most obtuse of the archangels, always looking for the obvious, not seeing that it was the unspoken things that mattered.

Castiel considered telling him what he had done, telling him Sam was there too, but he decided against. The Winchesters had taught him to hold what he knew close to his chest so as not to empower his opponent. They had taught him many things, least of all what it meant to do the right thing. And though he came here to destroy his brother or die in the attempt, he knew he was doing the right thing. If he was to fall and die, he would go into whatever oblivion awaited dead angels and be glad that he had died doing the right thing.

Raphael’s wings crackled with energy at his back and Castiel knew his fury was building. He had come here expecting an easy fight and a defeated seraph, but he was now learning it would not be so simple.

“Who is here?” Raphael asked. “Who did you choose to lose you honor? Who will I have to kill when I have killed you?”

Castiel’s lips pressed into a thin line. He would not speak, no matter what Raphael did to him. He would not put the people he loved at risk of Raphael’s revenge.

“You will talk,” Raphael said. “I will make you.”

“You will try.”

Raphael struck out again, and Castiel let the blow come this time, but as Raphael’s fist landed on his cheek, he gripped his wrist with his left hand. With his right, he snapped his wrist and his blade fell into his hand. He intended to drive his sword into Raphael’s arm, but Raphael shoved him away and brought his own blade up. It was longer than Castiel’s and infinitely more powerful. It was what Castiel needed to kill him. He could cut and slash at him with his angel blade all he liked, but it would only injure not kill. He needed to drive Raphael’s own blade into him to kill.

“You’re stronger,” Raphael said. “But not strong enough.”

“We shall see.”

Raphael’s grip tightened around the hilt of his blade. He seemed infuriated by Castiel’s lack of fear. He wanted Castiel scared, because that would mean mistakes, but Castiel was calm. He was calm in a way that only Sam could create. Castiel spent all his time in a state of siege lately, fighting back Raphael’s troops at every turn, but when he was with Sam, all that drained away, and he felt like a man. They had sat on the beach for many nights when Sam had been parted from Dean and Bobby, and it was peaceful. They would talk about everything and nothing, and it was good. He felt that same peace now with Sam’s light burning inside of him.

He feinted to the left and struck out to the right. His blade slashed through the air, scraping Raphael’s side. Raphael bellowed with pain and leapt back, his hand moving to his side. He seemed stunned and Castiel wondered when was the last time he had been injured. Had he in fact ever been injured?

“I will kill you for this,” Raphael snarled, swiping at Castiel.

Castiel dodged back, an exhilarated smile on his face. Raphael might have landed the first blow but he was the one to draw the first wound. It gave him hope. He could win this. He just needed to keep his head.

Raphael surged forward again, blade raised, and struck for Castiel’s chest. Castiel lurched away, but not enough. He was cut across his right chest. The pain was exquisite, and for a moment, it blurred his sight. Raphael took advantage of his distraction and landed another blow.

That was his mistake.

If he had struck the killing blow then he would have been victorious, but he went for the hurt instead of the kill and that doomed him.

Castiel was knocked to the ground and Raphael loomed over him, his foot pressing down on the wound in Castiel’s chest. The pain was beyond imagining, and it stole Castiel’s strength.

Raphael sneered down at him. “When I have killed you, I will go to Earth and take the Winchesters. I will start with… Sam. He has felt Hell and Heaven’s blades, but they are nothing to what I will do to him.”

“You will not touch him,” Castiel snarled, fighting to right himself.

“Not so calm now, are you, Castiel?”

Castiel struggled under him and Raphael laughed.

“You have fallen so far and yet you don’t even see the truth of it. How is it that you, having lived among the mud monkeys for a year, cannot see something so human?

Castiel did not know what he meant, nor did he care. Raphael chose that moment to press his blade to Castiel’s throat. Castiel reacted instinctively, with no hope of success, he lifted his arm and plunged his blade into Raphael’s leg.

Raphael howled in pain and stumbled back, his hand clasping the wound. Castiel struck again, driving the point of his blade into Raphael’s shoulder with a roar of fury. Raphael pulled back and the suction of the wound ripped the hilt of Castiel’s blade out of his hand but he didn’t notice. His eyes were on the treasure that had dropped from Raphael’s hand: the archangel blade. He snatched it up and leapt to his feet. Raphael stumbled back, reaching to pull Castiel’s blade from his shoulder with a grimace of pain.

Castiel waited, patient and triumphant for him to straighten, and then he raised his arm, pointing the blade at Raphael.

Raphael’s eyes widened comically as he caught sight of it. “You dare to touch an archangel blade?”

Castiel’s lips curved into a smile. “I dare.”

He took a step forward and pressed the tip of the blade against Raphael’s throat. He knew he had won, Raphael was at his mercy now, and he was going to enjoy this moment of victory.

Raphael gripped Castiel’s blade in his hands but he didn’t move otherwise. He knew as surely as Castiel did that it was over. Castiel wanted him to beg for mercy, as he would have had Castiel beg, but Raphael held his pride. He raised his arms at his sides and smiled. “Are you going to kill me, Castiel?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think you will. I don’t believe you have the strength to drive that into me. An archangel blade needs force behind it, and I don’t think you have it.”

Castiel tightened his grip on the blade. “You are wrong.”

It shouldn’t have been so easy. Raphael was an archangel, one of Castiel’s brother’s. It should have hurt Castiel to kill him, but it did not. He knew in doing this, killing him, he was saving the world and the people in it, the people he loved.

His arm straightened and the blade plunged into Raphael’s throat. Raphael's eyes widened with shock and his mouth opened in a silent cry of pain. Then he fell back, pulling himself from the tip of the blade and hit the ground with a anticlimactic thud. Ashy black wings spread out at his sides, the last show of his angelic grace.

Castiel looked down at his brother and waited for the sadness to come. He had killed him, surely there would be some regret for that, but there was nothing. He _felt_ nothing for a moment, and then the joy came. He _had_ killed his brother, but he had saved the world. He now understood how Sam had sustained in Hell so long. He had the knowledge that it had been for the greater good. And he had done it again. Without Sam, Castiel could never have defeated Raphael. He was a hero. And without Dean, there would be no Sam. And without Bobby, who had kept them alive for long years, there would be neither of them. Between the four of them, they had saved the world again.

Castiel stood for a long time in silence, looking down at his fallen brother, before he became aware that he was not alone. For a crazy second he believed it was Sam standing at his side, because of all the angels and people in the universe, it was him that Castiel wanted to see, and then he realized it was impossible, and he looked around.

He was surrounded by angels. Some of them from his own army and others of Raphael’s. Those of his own were wearing triumphant smiles and as he caught their eyes they began to speak. Thanks and congratulations came at him from all sides. He closed his eyes for a moment and let their voices wash over him, luxuriating in the relief and then a voice broke through and he opened them again.

“Are you going to kill us now?”

Castiel looked at the speaker. It was Abiel, one of Raphael’s lieutenants.

“No,” Castiel said. “I feel no need to take more lives. However, you must swear on our Father’s name that you will follow our path now.” He raised his voice so as to be heard by all in the heaven, trusting that the message would be passed on. “There will be no apocalypse. Michael and Lucifer will stay where they are. Our mission is the same as it ever was, to observe and protect.”

There was a disturbance at the rear of the crowd, and the angels parted to let two figures through. One was Rachel and trapped in her arms was Hester.

Castiel’s jaw tightened and he raised the blade in his hand, wanting to strike Hester where she stood, and then another idea occurred to him and he smiled grimly. He wanted her killed, but he didn’t know what that would mean for her. God had created Heaven for his beloved humans, would he have created the same for angels? If he killed her, would he be allowing her peace?

“Take her to the jail,” he said. “Imprison her beside the other traitor and be done. When Virgil shows himself, the same fate will befall him.”

Rachel nodded, and two other angels came to help her drag the struggling Hester away.

Castiel watched them go with a smile. He would like to kill Thaddeus for what he did to Sam, but he couldn’t as he needed him to deal with Hester and Virgil when he came. There was a price to every victory, and Thaddeus’ existence was that price.

“Castiel,” Samandriel said gently. “What are you going to do now?”

Castiel laid a hand over his chest, where he could feel the pulse of Sam’s soul. There were things he needed to do, angels to speak to, but in that moment he wanted nothing more that the scent of whiskey, old spice and books and the company of people he loved. He didn’t want to part with the feeling of power Sam’s soul gave him, but if he didn’t return it he would never know Sam’s company again. He had to let the feeling go in return for something better.

“I’m going home.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final thanks to Gredelina1 for beta’ing and general awesomeness. Love you, hon xxx  
> Also to all of you that have read this far. Thank you so much for supporting the story. I appreciate every one of you giving your time to read and share your thoughts.

**_Epilogue_ **

 

Sam was talking when Castiel arrived in the panic room. His satisfied voice was spewing forth bile. Castiel could see the strain it was taking on Dean, though Bobby seemed to be faring better.

“Adam was the one that suffered the most at first, but once he was gone, Sammy really took the brunt of it. He was so close to dying when Castiel shoved that grace in him and ripped his soul.“

Castiel drew his wings in at his back and moved to Sam’s side. “That will do, Sam,” he said softly, as he pressed two fingers to Sam’s temple and sent him into an unnatural sleep.” He caught him with one hand as he crumpled and eased him down to the cot.

“Cas, man, please tell me you did it,” Dean said, sounding as desperate as he looked. “Please tell me we’re done with Robo-Sam.”

“I did it. Raphael is dead.”

Dean punched the air. “Yes!”

Castiel smiled, enjoying his friend’s happiness. It was a great victory, and seeing Dean’s reaction, one of the people he had done it for, was gratifying.

Dean gave himself to his relief for a moment and then his face became solemn. “So we can have Sammy back, too?”

Castiel nodded. “His part has been played.”

Bobby breathed a sigh of relief. “Finally.”

Castiel placed a hand over his chest, reaching for the soul that burned beneath his breast.

“Hang on,” Dean said, and Castiel’s hand fell to his side again. “Is he getting it _all_ back this time? I mean, you don’t need to protect him anymore, do you?”

Castiel sighed a little sadly. He hadn’t considered giving Sam his complete soul back. He had assumed he would continue to have that bond with Sam after it was all over. He didn’t _want_ to give it back. He wanted a piece of that completeness he had felt in heaven when fighting Raphael. It was more than that though. He wanted that link with Sam that was more than emotional. He wanted a part of Sam with him when he could not be there in person. He wanted to continue to protect him, even though the threat had passed.

“Well?” Dean probed when he had been silent too long.

“Hold up, Dean,” Bobby said gently. “Let’s think about this. How do we know Sam would want it back? It’s not like we can ask him. He’s not himself right now. He wouldn’t want his soul back at all.”

“Yeah, but—“

“And think of how he was before this,” Bobby said. “He wasn’t happy for a long time.”

“Sure he wasn’t,” Dean said bitterly. “We were facing the apocalypse.”

“But even before that, he’s not been happy for a long time.”

“’Cause his girlfriend was dead, and then his dad, and then I was going to Hell, and then he was slurping down the demon blood. There’s always been reasons for him to be unhappy.”

“True.” Bobby scrubbed a hand through his beard. “But there were reasons for him to be unhappy since he got back, too, but he wasn’t. He’s been as close to happy as it gets for one of us.”

“You saying you want Cas to keep toting around a bit of him?”

“I’m saying that’s what he would want.”

“I know,” Dean said. “We get him ensouled again and ask him what he wants.”

Castiel shook his head. “I cannot do that. It’s too dangerous to keep doing this. We were lucky that it did not destroy him when I took his soul. We are risking that again when I return it. I will not do it again. You will have to decide for him. This is not a choice I can make.”

It was more than that though. Castiel could not make this choice for Sam as he knew what he wanted and how could he be sure his choice was unbiased. It needed to be Dean, Sam’s protector, that made this decision for him.

“What does this mean for him really?” Dean asked. “I don’t care if it makes him human or not; I’m asking if he’s going to be able to have what he wants. Will he be able to… die, or will he be trapped on earth forever?”

Castiel looked down at the concrete floor, wondering how this would end. Left alone now, Sam would not die. The grace would heal almost everything. He would never weaken with age or disease. The grace would keep him strong and virile.

“Cas?” Dean pressed.

“He will not die a natural death,” Castiel said. “He will theoretically live on forever. But he doesn’t need to. As Virgil did when he took Sam to Heaven’s jail, I can deliver him to Heaven.”

“See,” Bobby said. “This has to be a good thing, Dean. He get all the life he wants and then he can have some peace at the end.”

Dean raked his hand through his hair, looking agitated. Castiel waited patiently, focusing on the warmth in his chest. He knew it could be the last time he would feel this, and he wanted to make the most of it while he could.

“Dean,” Bobby said gently. “Think what he would want.”

“Fine,” Dean said grudgingly. “You can keep it. But only the smallest piece. I don’t want him to be anything like… that!” He pointed at Sam lying on the cot and Castiel understood Dean’s pain.

“Only the smallest portion,” he said softly.

He waited a moment, luxuriating in the feeling of completeness that Sam gave him, and then he pressed his fingers into his vessel’s mortal chest and reached for Sam’s soul. It was easy to reach for the right amount, leaving the barest sliver of Sam behind. He did not need to reach for his grace too, as that was so closely entwined with Sam’s soul that there was no separating it. Sam would always feel his grace. They would always be together.

Cupping Sam’s essence in his hand, he drew it out of himself and moved closer to Sam. He looked into the lax features and sent a silent prayer to his Father that this would work without losing Sam. He had no guarantee his Father was listening, but he couldn’t not try. Then he pressed the heat of the soul against Sam’s chest and pressed down. It slid into Sam easily, as if his body had been waiting to welcome him home. When it was done, he stepped back and nodded to Dean. It had worked and Sam was alive.

As if to prove it, Sam’s eyes rolled beneath his lids and then cracked open. “Cas?” he said in a whisper.

“I am here.”

Sam’s eyes opened and fell on Castiel’s face. “Did it work? Is he gone?”

“Yes, Sam. We did it.”

Sam smiled and pushed himself around to sit on the edge of the cot, rubbing his chest. Castiel sat down beside him and shifted so their legs and shoulders were pressed together.

Sam rubbed at his chest and then tilted his head to the side. “I can still hear them.” He sounded stunned.

“Did you not want to?” Castiel asked, worry creeping into his voice.

“Of course,” Sam said, and then his smile grew. “They’re singing.”

“They are happy.” Castiel paused for a moment before asking the question he needed answering. “Are you, Sam?”

Sam looked from Castiel to Dean and then Bobby and then he moved so his head was resting on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> You would think after writing as many stories as I have that I would be used to the nerves of posting a new one. I’m not. I am as scared posting this as I was the day I posted the first chapter of Breaking Down The Wall. The fact this is my first Sam/Cas pairing doesn’t make it any easier.  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please take a moment to review/comment. I don’t think I can overstate how much it means to a writer to hear that people enjoy what you’ve spent hours working on. I am also more than happy to accept constructive criticism. I am learning as I go, so any help you can offer would be gratefully received.


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